MACMILLAN'S     STANDARD     LIBRARY 


ON    THE   WE-A    TRAIL 


<{tl  would  have  you  read  this  document.'  " 


See  page  226. 


ON    THE    WE-A    TRAIL 

A   STORT    OF    THE    GREAT 
WILDERNESS 

BY 

CAROLINE   BROWN 


'T¥s  Destiny,  unshunnabk,  like  death" 

—  SHAKESPEARE 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  MAX   KLEPPER 


NEW  YORK 
GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  THE   .MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  September,  1903.       Reprinted 
May,  lyoo. 


J.  8.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mas*.,  U.S.A. 


Dedicated 

to 
The  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Revolution 

The  Colonial  Dames 

and 

The  Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution 
Whose  Fore-fathers  and  Fore-mothers 

Were  the  Pioneers 


P582841 


CONTENTS 


CHAOTK 

I.  CHILDREN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

II.  WITHIN  THE  FOREST      .        . 

III.  IN  THE  CABIN         .        •  .,     . 

IV.  THE  MEDICINE-MAN        *        . 
V.  AT  THE  SPRING      .       *•      . 

VI.  WITH  THE  SAVAGES 

VII.  WANDERING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

VIII.  LE  COUREUR  DE  Bois     .    .  .* 

IX.  LE  DONNE       .... 

X.  THE  PRIEST'S  GUEST      .        . 

XL  IN  THE  GARDEN 

XII.  IN  THE   PlANKESHAW   VILLAGE 

XIII.  THE  WARDSHIP      ... 

XIV.  THE  NEW  HOME     . 

XV.  THE  RETURN  OF  LANCASTER 

XVI.  MADE  CAPTIVE       .        .        . 

XVII.  THE  ESCAPE    .        .        .        . 

XVIII.  IN  HIDING       .... 

XIX.  CLARK'S  GUIDE       .        .        . 

XX.  "BEWILDERED"          .  . 

XXL  CLARK  AND  FATHER  GIBAULT 

XXII.  A  CHANGE  OF  ALLEGIANCE    . 

XXIII.  THE  APPARITION     . 

XXIV.  A  QUIET  INTERVAL 

vii 


PACK 

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57 
66 

74 

86 

96 

106 

112 
II9 
I30 
136 
146 

154 
164 

175 
184 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


CHAfTBR  FACE 

XXV.  THE  CIDER  MAKING 190 

XXVI.  THE  GRAPE  GATHERING 200 

XXVII.  THE  COUREUR'S  OPPORTUNITY  .  .  .  .213 

XXVIII.  AT  THE  TAVERN 218 

XXIX.  OPPOSITE  THE  "MAMMELLE"  .  .  .  .230 

XXX.  A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER 239 

XXXI.  THE  PANCAKE  TURNING 253 

XXXII.  THE  "HAIR-BUYER"  GENERAL         .        .        .268 

XXXIII.  THE  CHRISTMAS  FETE 276 

XXXIV.  MIDWINTER 295 

XXXV.     A  GAME  OF  PIQUET 301 

XXXVI.  AT  LAST!.  .  - 317 

XXXVII.  UNDER  THE  WHITE  FLAG  .  .  .  .322 

XXXVIII.  A  SUSPENSION  OF  HOSTILITIES  .  .  .  327 

XXXIX.  THE  END  OF  AH-MAH-NAC-O  ....  334 

XL.  "  A  HAPPY  ISSUE  OUT  OF  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE  "  340 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  '  I  would  have  you  read  this  document '  "        Frontispiece 


FACING   PAGE 


<: '  There,  there,  my  girl !     Don't,  don't  cry !  "  .  ••       8 

"  He    was    fingering    enviously    the     long    red-brown 

locks" 34 

"Away  he  dashed  in  mighty  plunges"       .         .         .     122 
" '  I  want,  and  will  have,  the  woman  I  choose ' '       .     194 

"  He    lurched    forward    .    .    .    and    sprawled    on    all 

fours "  .         .         .         ...        .  .     236 

"Watching    .    .    .    the    sweeping   courtesies    of    the 

dancers "  .         .         ...         ...         .     286 

"  She   gently   wiped   his   face,  and   kissed   him   once 

on  the  lips"         .        .        ...         .         .    320 


ON    THE  WE-A   TRAIL 

CHAPTER    I 

CHILDREN    OF   THE    WILDERNESS 

THE  leaf-storm  was  ended.  The  sky  was  washed 
clear  of  every  cloud  and  hung  blue  and  brilliant 
above  a  little  clearing  in  the  Great  Wilderness 
which  the  forest  girdled  with  its  primeval  trees 
and  boscage  of  yesterday.  In  this  spot  stood  a 
small  cabin.  It  was  situated  within  gunshot  of 
the  puny  stockade  at  the  foot  of  the  fall  into 
which  the  creek  at  hand  tumbled  and  foamed  on 
its  way  to  the  great  Ouibache,  miles  farther  on 
toward  the  west.  On  this  spring  day  the  cabin 
door  again  stood  wide,  and  framed  in  its  va 
cancy  was  the  figure  of  a  young,  slender  girl 
not  yet  developed  to  the  full  contours  of  woman 
hood.  She  had  paused  on  the  threshold,  with 
her  face  turned  back  over  her  shoulder,  toward 
the  interior  of  the  room.  Her  voice  —  of  that  rare 
timbre,  a  combination  of  pleasant  double  tones  — 
was  raised  loudly  in  talking  to  some  one  within. 

"Yes,  granny,"  she  said,  as  if  in  answer  to  a 
cautioning  ;  "  I'll  surely  get  it." 


2  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  And  dog's-bane,  too,  don't  forget  that !  "  qua 
vered  granny,  in  the  uncertain  volume  of  the  deaf. 
"  I'm  poorly  to-day.  See  my  feet ! " 

The  girl  returned  to  her  grandmother's  side 
to  look  at  the  swollen  members;  smoothed  the 
bandages  on  them  gently,  and  said :  — 

"I'll  get  some  ' white-man's-foot '  too,  it's  big 
enough  to  use  now,  granny,  and  that  will  soothe 
them.  Let  me  fill  your  pipe  again,  and  then  I'll 
go  to  the  patch  and  gather  the  greens  for  dinner ; 
the  poke  is  up  already." 

Granny  emptied  the  "dottle"  into  her  palm,  in 
ured  to  the  hot  ash  by  long  practice,  and  watched 
the  girl  with  senile  interest  while  she  crumbled 
to  powder  the  dry  leaf  of  home-grown  tobacco, 
and  deftly  whisked  it  into  the  pipebowl,  making  a 
dent  in  the  middle  with  a  slim  brown  finger  for 
the  embers  on  the  old  woman's  hand.  The  pipe 
alight,  the  girl  set  off  to  the  little  field  enclosed 
by  tall  pickets  set  side  by  side  to  keep  out  forest 
vermin  —  unconscionable  robbers.  Bordering  this 
tiny  plot,  the  poke-root  grew  in  abundance ;  and 
its  pale  green  spires,  scarcely  pricking  through 
the  brown  mould,  were  eagerly  eaten  by  the  pio 
neers  after  the  winter  regimen  of  jerked  venison 
and  corn-pone. 

The  girl's  quest  soon  brought  her  to  the  side 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS          3 

of  the  field  nearest  the  forest.  There  was  a  rush 
and  a  scamper,  and  with  a  great  bound  over  the 
palings  a  dog  landed  at  her  side ;  it  greeted  her 
noiselessly  but  with  an  extravagant  grin  of  joy, 
with  wrinkled  muzzle  and  brown  lips  rolled  back, 
displaying  its  strong  young  teeth;  a  gulping 
sound  in  its  throat  betrayed  how  hard  it  was  not 
to  give  voice  to  the  loud  bay  natural  to  its  breed ; 
but  it  had  been  trained  to  silence  and  well  knew 
that  one  loud  bark  would  carry  far  into  the  forest 
and  bring  the  Indians  upon  them. 

"Why,  Juno,  good  girl,  where's  your  master?" 
cried  the  maid,  fondling  the  dog. 

"  Not  far  off,  as  you  might  guess,  Ferriby," 
answered  a  bold,  gay  voice.  With  a  scramble 
for  the  top  and  a  spring  down,  a  young  man 
cleared  the  barrier  that  parted  them.  He  was  a 
tall,  spare  youth,  clad  in  the  deerskin  breeches 
and  jerkin  worn  by  the  frontiersmen.  On  his 
head  was  a  coonskin  cap  darkly  striped,  with 
the  tail  hanging  jauntily  down  behind.  His  feet 
were  shod  with  buffalo-hide  buskins  such  as  the 
Indians  wore  in  winter. 

His  face  was  one  of  striking  beauty,  and  just 
now  wore  its  finest  look ;  for  his  black  eyes  were 
brilliant  with  a  happy  light  and  his  red  lips  were 
curled  in  a  smile ;  the  color  of  his  olive  skin  flushed 


4  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

crimson,  like  the  blush  of  a  girl,  through  the  tan 
of  his  cheek,  at  sight  of  the  maid.  His  hair,  with 
locks  parted  like  Samson's,  hung  to  his  shoulders, 
straight,  thick,  and  lustreless  as  dead  coals,  and 
showed  deep  blue  shadows.  It  framed  a  thin, 
eager  face,  wherein  were  set  eyes  deep  and  dark, 
and  so  watchful  as  to  be  almost  furtive  in  expres 
sion.  His  strong  chin,  a  trifle  too  heavy,  was 
relieved  by  "  Apollo's  cleft "  down  the  middle. 
His  lips,  beautifully  curved,  yet  almost  too  thin, 
made  their  line  of  junction  sharply  and  firmly,  as 
if  at  the  very  door  of  manhood  he  had  learned 
over-early  how  hard  a  thing  life  is.  An  aquiline 
nose  completed  the  harmony  of  his  lineaments. 
Nature  had  sent  him  forth  a  perfect  model  of 
what  her  sons  of  the  wilderness  should  be :  slight 
of  frame  yet  tough  as  a  hickory  sapling ;  lithe  and 
active,  cautious  and  fearless.  He  was  master  of 
every  faculty,  as  those  must  be  who  dwell  in  the 
Great  Wilderness  where  the  crackle  of  a  twig 
conveys  a  warning ;  the  flutter  of  a  leaf  a  message. 
He  was  pioneer  first,  and  lover  afterward.  De 
spite  the  blush  there  was  nothing  humble  in  his 
bearing  toward  the  girl.  Manifestly  Nature  had 
brought  these  two  together  in  her  solitudes,  as 
she  had  paired  the  birds  now  contentedly  building. 
"  If  you  would  only  greet  me  as  kindly  as  you 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS          5 

did  my  dog,  I'd  be  a  happy  man,  Ferriby ! "  cried 
the  youth,  boldly ;  "  but  since  the  log-rolling  here 
in  the  winter  I've  scarcely  had  the  chance  to  speak 
to  you.  Now  you've  got  to  hear  me,  willy- 
nilly  ! " 

The  girl  was  disconcerted  at  thus  being  taken 
unawares,  and  felt  a  sweet  alarm;  instinctively 
she  knew  him  as  a  seeking  lover,  whom  she  had 
long  shunned  with  the  inscrutable  coyness  of 
maidenhood.  She  felt  that  now  there  was  no 
escape.  The  eagerness  of  his  ardent  eyes,  the 
triumph  of  his  smile,  betrayed  his  amorous  in 
tention.  Bold  and  warm  he  was,  and  she  shrank 
at  his  approach  with  a  thrill  of  dread.  Few  words 
were  needed  between  them,  children  of  the  wil 
derness,  as  they  were,  where  silence  has  many 
tongues.  With  a  quick  movement  he  drew  her 
to  his  breast  in  a  close  embrace  and  pressed  pas 
sionate  kisses  on  her  quivering  lips. 

"  Now,  Ferriby  Benhem,  you  are  my  sweet 
heart,"  he  said  imperiously;  "and  the  first  man 
that  dares  covet  you  will  feel  my  fist!  If  that 
will  not  suffice  him,  then  — "  and  he  nodded 
meaningly  toward  his  flint-lock  rifle  that  leaned 
against  the  forest  side  of  the  pickets. 

"  You  needn't  make  such  wicked  threats,  Robert 
Lancaster ;  no  one  wants  me  but  you !  "  she  replied 


6  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

with  a  sweet  humility  that  conveyed  to  him  her 
joy  in  that  preference. 

"What!  not  Ah-mah-nac-o,  the  Yellow  Wolf? 
Hasn't  he  brought  you  presents  of  fur  and  feather 
lately  ?  "  he  demanded  teasingly. 

"  You  know  we  must  keep  friendly  with  the 
wandering  Miamis,  Robert ;  and  it  is  not  kind  in 
you  to  tease  me  about  Ah-mah-nac-o.  I  dare  not 
refuse  his  presents.  He  is  in  high  favor  with  the 
tribe ;  to  offend  him  is  to  offend  them,  as  you  well 
know.  No ;  it  isn't  kind  of  you !  "  She  flashed 
a  vexed  glance  at  him  as  she  moved  away  a  few 
steps  and  began  to  gather  up  the  greens,  which, 
with  the  basket,  had  fallen  to  the  ground  on  the 
sudden  embrace  of  her  lover. 

"  I  dare  swear  the  very  basket  in  your  hand 
was  a  love-token 'from  him!"  cried  Lancaster, 
roguishly. 

Ferriby  bit  her  lip  to  still  its  quivering,  pro 
phetic  of  an  unwilling  smile;  for,  in  truth,  the 
gaudily  stained  basket  of  birch  splints  had  been 
one  of  the  young  warrior's  offerings,  which  were 
varied  and  odd.  Now  and  then  he  would  bring 
her  the  gay  feathers  of  the  redbird,  or  the  brush 
of  a  fox,  or  the  wing  of  a  wild  turkey,  or  the  earli 
est  fuzzy  catkins,  the  meaning  of  which  the  girl 
fully  understood  but  dared  give  no  sign. 


CHILDREN   OF  THE   WILDERNESS  7 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so  !  "  he  said  suspiciously,  with 
that  quick  change  of  mood  peculiar  to  young 
lovers.  "  You  tell  me  one  thing  and  do  another ! 
Did  he  give  you  the  basket?"  he  insisted,  as  he 
saw  Ferriby's  face  change,  hurt  at  his  mistrust. 
But  he  thought  her  annoyed  because  found  out ! 

"Yes;  he  brought  it  full  of  calamus-root  and 
maple  sugar  to  make  a  syrup  for  granny's 
cough  !  "  she  explained  so  haltingly  —  shamed 
at  Yellow  Wolfs  fancy  for  her  —  that  his  sus 
picion  flamed  into  anger. 

"Granny,  granny!"  he  laughed  derisively; 
"  catch  an  Indian  buck  looking  at  a  toothless 
old  dame  when  the  '  White  Rose  '  is  by ! " 

"  He  brought  them  to  me  then ! "  she  cried 
defiantly ;  "  and  what  if  he  did  ?  Didn't  I  just 
tell  you  — "  overcome  by  vexation  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  coarse,  hempen  apron  to  hide  the 
tears  of  chagrin  that  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

Robert  was  pale  with  anger,  into  which  most 
primal  passion  his  untrained  nature  was  easily 
apt  to  lapse,  but  her  tears  soon  brought  him  to 
repentance.  He  was  distressed  at  them,  and  felt 
as  if  he  had  wounded  a  brocket  in  the  velvet, 
or  had  trod  on  a  nest  of  leverets  snugly  hidden 
in  mother's  fur. 

He   threw  an  arm  about   her   shoulders,  and 


8  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

tried  to  draw  her  apron  from  her  face,  saying 
remorsefully,  the  while :  — 

"  There,  there,  my  girl !  Don't,  don't  cry !  I'm 
only  a  panther  myself,  and  don't  know  how  to 
treat  a  fawn  !  " 

When  she  thought  him  sufficiently  repentant, 
she  disclosed  her  face.  Tender  and  moving  it 
was !  Her  great  blue  eyes  swam  in  tears,  and  a 
pair  fell  upon  his  hand.  He  felt  as  if  seared  by 
a  branding-iron,  and  tenderly  soothed  her  till  a 
loud,  dissonant  sound  roused  them  from  their 
sweet  forgetfulness. 

"  Oh,  that's  granny  blowing  the  horn.  She 
needs  me  !  "  cried  Ferriby,  starting  from  his  arms. 

"  It  must  be  good-by,  then,  Ferriby ;  for  in  an 
hour  I  leave  for  Detroit,  to  barter  off  my  winter 
peltry.  I  can  get  double  prices  there.  The 
French  traders  offer  me  passage  in  their  batteau, 
and  it's  too  good  a  chance  to  lose.  I  want  to 
leave  Juno  with  you!"  As  he  spoke  he  drew 
from  his  doeskin  pouch  a  length  of  leather 
string  which  he  tied  to  the  dog's  collar. 

"  When  I  come  back,  I'll  blaze  the  trees  for  our 
cabin ;  they  shall  be  sweet  maple,  all  the  same  size. 
And  as  soon  as  it's  built  we'll  follow  the  We-a 
Trail  to  O  Poste  and  be  married  by  the  Notary, 
there ! " 


There,  there,  my  girl  !      Don't,  don't  cry  !'  : 


CHILDREN  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  O 

But  this  happy  forecast  did  not  cheer  the  girl. 

"  It  is  a  long,  dangerous  journey  to  Detroit, 
Robert ;  I  can't  bear  to  let  you  go.  Who  knows 
that  we'll  ever  meet  again  !  "  she  cried  sorrowfully. 

They  parted  with  many  endearments  and 
promises,  but  with  heaviness  of  heart  neither 
could  hide  from  the  other;  for  the  trail  of  six 
hundred  miles  over  prairies,  through  forests,  by 
wild  watercourses  was  hard  and  dangerous,  and 
many  never  found  their  way  back.  Another 
loud  blare,  and  they  were  compelled  to  part. 

Robert  watched  Ferriby  till  she  passed  beyond 
the  thicket  of  leafless  paw-paws,  —  the  unwilling 
dog  dragging  at  her  heels,  her  heart  with  her 
master,  too,  —  then  he  leaped  the  pickets,  secured 
his  rifle,  and  disappeared  into  the  forest. 

Keen  of  ear  and  quick  of  eye  as  he  was,  the 
grief  of  parting  had  dulled  his  faculties,  for  he 
neither  heard  nor  saw  the  crafty  red-man  who 
peered  at  him  from  behind  a  huge  oak,  circling 
the  tree  like  a  squirrel  to  keep  him  in  sight. 
The  savage  grunted  once,  looked  back  toward 
the  cabin,  and  said  aloud :  — 

"  The  White  Rose  belongs  to  the  son  of  the 
forest !  Ah-mah-nac-o  will  find  a  way !  " 

And  he  followed  Lancaster  into  the  wilderness 
noiselessly  as  a  dying  wind. 


CHAPTER   II 

WITHIN     THE     FOREST 

LANCASTER  hurried  onward  to  the  stockade, 
heedless  of  the  noise  he  made.  His  feet  bore  his 
body  onward  swiftly,  but  his  heart  remained 
behind.  So  strong  was  his  longing  that  he 
stopped  short  to  cast  backward  one  look  in  hope 
of  seeing  Ferriby  again,  if  but  for  the  briefest 
glimpse.  There  was  an  irrepressible  movement 
somewhere  near  him,  as  if  some  inquisitive  squir 
rel  had  leaped  and  set  a  limb  vibrating,  a  fact 
his  subconsciousness  warned  him  of  instantly 
and  recalled  his  wandering  mind  to  ever  present 
danger.  He  cast  a  swift  look  around,  and  from 
behind  a  tree  caught  the  glint  of  steel  that  a  tiny 
sun-flash  betrayed.  Instinctively  he  swerved  a 
little  to  one  side,  and  a  bright,  new  hatchet  hurtled 
through  the  space  where  he  had  paused  but  an 
instant  before. 

"  Ah,  a  savage  !  The  hatchet  is  grounded,  but 
not  for  peace  !  " 

He  coolly  walked  forward,  and  drew  the  instru 
ment,  meant  for  his  death,  from  the  earth  where 

10 


WITHIN  THE  FOREST  II 

it  was  embedded  deeply,  looked  at  it  narrowly, 
and  muttered :  — 

"  New,  and  of  English  make  !  Then  the  rumors 
of  the  arming  of  the  tribes  are  true ! " 

While  he  spoke  a  stealthy  form  was  slipping 
from  bush  to  bush,  attempting  to  escape.  This 
was  what  Lancaster  had  wished  for,  that  he  might 
give  chase,  which  he  instantly  did,  once  convinced 
the  savage  was  alone ;  and  his  lover's  instinct 
told  him  who  that  was. 

He  began  a  wild  race  after  the  fugitive,  and 
because  of  his  superior  length  of  limb  and  train 
ing  as  a  schoolboy,  he  soon  gained  upon  him. 

The  Indian  once  in  plain  view,  his  suspicion 
was  confirmed.  It  was  the  Yellow  Wolf!  He 
had  been  spying  on  him  and  Ferriby ;  his  savage 
jealousy  had  been  roused,  on  which  followed 
the  desire  for  swift  revenge.  He  would  have 
murdered  him.  He  deserved  sharp  punishment ! 
This  conclusion  seemed  to  lend  strength  to 
Lancaster.  His  wild  leaps  lengthened  ;  his  speed 
increased,  so  that  the  space  between  the  two 
diminished  rapidly.  In  another  moment  he 
would  have  his  hand  on  the  miscreant's  throat. 
He  stretched  it  forth  to  clutch  the  fluttering 
fringes  of  his  garments.  On  the  instant,  the 
savage  squatted  so  that  Robert  was  toppled  head 


12  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

over  heels.  Quick  as  a  flash,  before  Ah-mah- 
nac-o  could  regain  his  feet,  Lancaster  rolled 
against  him,  threw  him  down,  and  locked  him 
in  an  embrace  that  nearly  snapped  his  ribs.  In 
spite  of  the  stoical  endurance  to  which  the  savage 
had  been  bred,  he  could  not  subdue  a  stifled  cry 
of  acute  pain  ;  and  he  gasped  for  breath.  Lan 
caster  reached  for  his  knife,  tore  it  from  its 
sheath,  and  thus  disarmed  him.  He  then  arose, 
and  dragged  the  savage  upright.  Though  mad 
with  rage,  caution  whispered  that  in  this  case 
murder  might  not  be  done  upon  a  warrior  of  a 
tribe  professedly  at  peace  with  the  "  Big  Knives." 
He  must  take  revenge  in  some  other  form  —  one 
that  would  be  an  indignity  which  the  savage 
would  deeply  feel  but  never  confess.  Lancaster 
stepped  back  a  pace  from  his  adversary,  and 
glared  at  him  with  as  cruel  a  look  as  the  savage's 
own.  He  doubled  up  his  fists,  and  indicated  to 
the  red-man  that  he  must  fight  as  the  white  man 
fought.  Ah-mah-nac-o  regarded  him  with  proud 
scorn.  By  a  nod  of  the  head  he  refused,  and 
motioned  to  the  knife  at  Lancaster's  side,  stuck 
there  beside  his  own. 

"  There'll  be  no  fight  with  these,  you  hound ! 
You're  not  to  be  trusted !  I  honor  you  to  fight 
you  as  a  white  man  !  —  Ready  !  " 


WITHIN  THE  FOREST  13 

They  flew  at  each  other  like  two  panthers. 
Lancaster  had  the  advantage  of  training,  the 
savage,  of  agility ;  so  that  many  of  Robert's  blows 
fell  foul,  but  enough  landed  to  punish  the  Indian 
well. 

They  fought  till  their  breath  grew  short, 
their  chests  heaved.  Then  Lancaster's  superior 
strength  began  to  tell.  Ah-mah-nac-o  sobbed  for 
breath,  a  bloody  foam  rose  to  his  lips;  but  he 
fought  desperately  on  till  there  was  hardly  a  spot 
on  his  naked  shoulders  that  did  not  show  a 
deeper  tint  than  nature's  copper  hue.  Suddenly 
Robert's  arm  shot  out  in  a  tremendous  blow  that 
sent  him  reeling.  For  an  instant  he  lay  like 
dead.  Then  he  rose  upon  his  elbow,  and,  through 
the  red  mist  of  hate  which  swam  before  his  eyes, 
he  gave  to  his  foe  such  a  look  of  malignity  as 
might  well  make  Robert  fear  some  new  treachery. 

Lancaster  held  out  a  hand  to  help  him,  but  the 
Indian  disdained  it  and  struggled  to  his  feet  alone. 
He  pointed  to  the  northwest,  indicating  that  Yel 
low  Wolf  must  follow  the  trail  to  the  distant 
village  on  the  Ouibache,  on  pain  of  further  punish 
ment.  And  the  disarmed  savage  sullenly  made  off 
down  the  trail.  In  his  wild  passion  of  fighting 
Lancaster  had  not  noticed  his  own  wounds.  He 
had  not  come  off  unscathed,  for  the  savage  had 


14  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

torn  his  hands  with  cruel  nails  like  sharp  briers, 
and  had  bitten  him  like  a  wolf ;  but  he  was  none 
the  worse  for  these,  and  he  hastened  to  the  stock 
ade  to  join  his  fellows,  for  the  long,  long  journey 
to  Detroit. 


CHAPTER   III 

IN    THE     CABIN 

SEVERAL  years  before  the  advent  of  the  Benham 
family,  the  little  stockade  had  been  built  by  the 
French  traders  and  trappers  from  O  Poste,  and 
the  freedom  of  the  place  was  given  to  the  friendly 
Piankeshaws,  who  had  their  village  opposite  Fort 
Sackville  on  the  Ouibache.  Here  during  the 
winter  season,  the  harvest-time  of  the  trapper, 
they  lived  in  perfect  amity. 

When  Lancaster,  a  high-mettled  youth,  moved 
by  the  spirit  of  the  time,  came  among  them,  from 
the  distant  colony  of  Virginia,  they  unquestion- 
ingly  gave  him  food  and  shelter,  and  later  trained 
him  in  the  hunter's  and  trapper's  craft.  When 
they  returned  to  their  homes  in  the  village  at  the 
post  on  the  Ouibache,  the  trapping  season  over, 
he  remained  alone  in  the  little  stockade ;  the  spell 
of  the  wilderness  had  fallen  upon  him,  and  he 
could  not  leave  it.  One  day,  late  in  July,  now 
two  years  past,  he  had  discovered  a  small  flatboat 
making  way  upstream,  and  was  amazed  to  behold 


1 6  ON   THE  WE^A  TRAIL 

upon  it  women  and  children  as  well  as  men. 
While  isolated  families  were  not  unknown  in  the 
wilderness,  they  were  rare ;  they  usually  dwelt 
nearer  one  or  another  of  the  posts  invested  by 
British  soldiers.  When  the  flatboat  made  a  land 
ing  and  all  came  ashore,  glad  of  a  roofs  shelter 
for  the  night,  and  of  a  break  on  the  terrible  soli 
tude  of  the  abandoned  river,  Lancaster  could 
hardly  contain  his  joy.  They  were  the  first 
women  he  had  seen  in  two  years. 

After  carefully  considering  the  advantages  of 
the  place,  Benham  decided  to  settle  there,  and 
the  family  had  lived  safely  and  happily,  till  at  the 
end  of  the  first  year  the  mysterious  "  milk  sick 
ness  "  carried  off  the  mother  and  two  children. 
Another  year  had  gone  since  then. 

On  the  day  that  Robert  and  Ferriby  parted  in 
the  clearing,  the  stockade  would  be  deserted  for 
the  summer  by  the  last  trapper,  who  would 
scatter  far  and  wide  on  their  several  errands  to 
remain  away  till  the  next  snow  should  call  them 
back  again. 

When  Ferriby  reached  the  cabin,  she  found  the 
patient  granny  fallen  into  senile  slumber,  and 
little  Jack  seated  on  the  floor  by  her  side  playing, 
his  pet  'possum  cuddled  on  his  frock  asleep. 
The  child  was  busily  building  a  blockhouse, 


IN  THE  CABIN  17 

breathlessly  watching  the  structure  grow  higher,  in 
pleasant  dread  lest  each  added  cob  would  tumble 
the  whole  into  a  heap.  Against  the  deep  blue  of 
his  tow  frock,  his  long,  flaxen  hair  seemed  almost 
as  white  as  the  ancient  dame's  time-bleached  locks. 
His  azure  eyes  were  intent  on  his  task,  and  he 
hardly  raised  them  when  Ferriby  paused  at  the 
door.  The  'possum  roused  when  it  scented  the 
dog,  and  shambled  off  like  a  little  bear  to  hide 
under  the  bed.  Granny  dozed  on  with  many  a 
guttural  snore  that  waked  her  briefly ;  her  shrivelled 
lips  parted,  then  closed  again  with  her  sibilant 
breathing.  Her  abundant  hair,  divested  of  the 
customary  cap,  was  as  white  as  the  wax  berries 
that  grew  beside  the  door,  from  the  morning's 
washing  that  Ferriby  had  given  it.  The  girl 
lingered  for  a  moment  to  watch  the  two,  at  the 
extremes  of  life,  —  age  and  infancy.  She  tied  the 
dog  to  a  peg  outside  the  door,  entered  and  crossed 
the  room  to  deposit  her  greens  on  the  puncheon 
table  near  the  fireplace.  In  her  passage  she 
interrupted  granny  and  the  child  in  their  dream 
ing  and  playing. 

"  See,  sister,"  called  out  the  boy,  with  a  pretty 
air  of  protection ;  "  I've  built  a  great  big  blockhouse, 
and  I  won't  let  the  Injuns  get  you  and  granny!" 

"  The    Indians   won't   get   us,  Jack.      They're 


1 8  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

good  Indians ! "  Ferriby  replied ;  for  she  never 
encouraged  the  child  to  fear  the  savages  who  came 
to  the  cabin  almost  daily  in  the  hunting  season. 

"  Ah-mah-nac-o  likes  us,  don't  he,  sister  ?  He 
brings  nice  berries  strung  on  grass,  and  pretty 
feathers,  an'  —  an'  —  Don't  he  ?  " 

At  the  name  of  the  young  warrior  a  look  of 
irritation  flitted  over  the  young  girl's  face  ;  for 
during  the  previous  summer  he  had  crossed  her 
path  at  most  unexpected  times  and  in  unlikely 
places,  pressing  trifling  gifts  upon  her.  Once 
she  heard  a  faint  fluting,  and  looked  up  to  see 
Yellow  Wolf  piping  on  a  rustic  flute  made  from 
a  tender  twig  of  paw-paw.  At  first  she  accepted 
these  odd  tributes  laughingly,  but  after  a  time 
they  became  painfully  significant,  and  caused  her 
great  anxiety.  When  Lancaster  returned  from  a 
trip  to  the  Kentucky  hunting-grounds,  she  ceased 
to  laugh,  for  the  savage  showed  his  true  nature 
by  ugly  scowls  and  fierce  gestures,  which  Ferriby 
with  womanly  guile  pretended  not  to  comprehend. 
But  Lancaster  rashly  flouted  openly  the  devotion 
of  the  young  warrior,  and  the  two  youths  came  to 
hate  each  other  as  heartily  as  if  both  were  of  the 
same  race.  The  Yellow  Wolf  had  shown  his 
rending  teeth  till  Ferriby  was  afraid  for  her  lover. 
It  was  a  great  relief  when  he  returned  to  O  Poste 


IN  THE   CABIN  19 

for  the  winter,  and  as  spring  advanced  she  dreaded 
each  day  to  see  his  reappearance. 

The  fire  was  low ;  she  threw  cobs  and  chips 
on  it,  and  set  the  dinner-pot,  suspended  from 
the  crane,  into  loud  bubbling,  diffusing  abroad  a 
savory  vapor.  She  washed  the  "  greens,"  and 
added  them  to  its  contents ;  then  she  mixed  the 
corn-bread,  and  turned  it  into  the  long-legged 
skillet,  and  set  it  on  a  pile  of  coals  at  one  side  of 
the  hearth  slowly  to  bake  into  the  sweetest,  tooth- 
somest  morsel  ever  eaten  by  hungry  hunter.  She 
set  the  table  neatly  with  burnished  pewterware, 
and  when  her  preparations  were  thus  far  com 
pleted,  she  stepped  to  the  door,  glanced  skyward, 
and  saw  that  the  sun  had  reached  mid-heaven, 
and  then,  that  the  slender  sycamore  in  the  door- 
yard  had  all  but  swallowed  up  its  own  shadow, 
by  which  tokens  she  knew  it  was  noon.  She 
blew  a  blast  on  the  cow-horn  to  warn  her  father 
of  the  dinner-hour.  He  was  planting  corn  in 
one  of  the  natural  pastures,  now  turned  into  a 
field,  which  were  often  found  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest. 

"  Granny,  dear,  watch  the  bread  while  I  go  to 
the  spring.  Don't  let  it  burn.  You  know  father 
hates  the  taste  of  scorched  bread.  By  the  time 
I'm  back,  he'll  be  here." 


20  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  He's  here  now,"  cried  a  loud,  cheerful  voice 
from  outside,  "  and  as  hungry  as  a  hunter.  So 
hurry  off,  Ferriby  !  " 

The  girl  tripped  away  down  the  path  to  the 
spring  house,  below  the  long,  steep  hill,  Juno 
straining  at  her  rope  in  vain  effort  to  follow. 

Benham  rested  his  rifle  against  the  cabin  wall, 
took  off  his  shot-pouch  and  powder-horn,  and 
seated  himself  on  the  bench  outside  the  door, 
threw  his  coonskin  cap  on  the  ground  at  his  feet, 
and  leaned  restfully  back  against  the  logs.  As 
he  did  so  his  vigilant  eyes  rested  on  the  fringe  of 
trees,  impinging  on  the  clearing,  to  the  north. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  Who  are  they  ? "  he 
said  aloud  ;  and  he  peered  steadily  at  the  ob 
jects  an  untrained  eye  could  not  have  discovered. 
Juno  pointed,  silent  as  a  bronze  figure. 

"Indians!  What  tribe  can  they  be?  Not 
Piankeshaws,  for  they  are  at  the  shoals.  They 
are  in  paint  and  feathers,  too!  What  can  that 
mean  ? " 

A  band  of  savages  emerged  from  the  forest, 
and  came  toward  him  in  a  long,  single  file. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    MEDICINE-MAN 

As  the  Indians  crossed  the  small  space  of 
cleared  ground,  between  the  forest  and  the  cabin, 
Benham  scanned  them  closely,  and  by  certain 
small,  infallible  signs,  he  knew  they  were  not 
altogether  friendly,  although  they  attempted  to 
convey  by  gestures  that  their  errand  was  a  peace 
ful  one.  He  suspected  they  were  foraying  out  of 
their  lawful  hunting-grounds.  He  surmised  that 
they  were  a  war-party,  as  they  were  in  fighting 
trim,  in  paint  and  feathers,  and  from  their  otter- 
skin  belts  dangled  scalping-knives  and  bright, 
new  tomahawks  of  steel.  No  friendly  tribe  went 
abroad  thus  equipped. 

The  warrior  chief  of  the  band  stepped  forward, 
and  began  speaking  to  Benham  in  a  dialect  that  was 
unfamiliar  to  him ;  it  was  unlike  either  Mascoutin 
or  Piankeshaw,  which  he  understood  sufficiently 
to  grasp  their  meaning.  But  here  was  a  language 
he  did  not  comprehend  at  all,  whose  rough  gutturals 
trailed  off  into  soft  sibilants. 

21 


22  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Benham  shook  his  head  to  signify  that  he  did 
not  understand  him;  and  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  open  door  in  invitation  to  enter.  He  bade 
them  welcome,  at  a  venture,  in  a  few  words  of  the 
Piankeshaw  tongue,  and  raised  his  hands  with  the 
palms  down  to  show  that  all  he  had  was  theirs. 

Juno  strained  at  the  end  of  her  tether,  with 
bristling  back,  and  quivering  flank,  showing  her 
teeth,  protesting  against  them  with  all  her  might. 

The  war  chief,  a  magnificent  son  of  the  wilder 
ness,  began  to  speak,  and  to  Benham's  surprise 
the  interpreter  repeated  it  to  him  in  the  dialect 
he  himself  had  just  used. 

"  Vo-ka-nom-ik,  the  mighty  war  chief  of  the 
Puans,  asks  food,  not  for  himself,  whom  the  Great 
Spirit  sustains  with  the  breath  of  heaven  he  blows 
through  the  wilderness,  but  for  these  his  children 
who  are  weak  and  faint  with  hunger.  For  many 
sets  of  sun  we  have  journeyed  from  where  the 
broad  waters  meet.  We  are  people  from  the  sun 
rise,  and  have  followed  the  trail,  finding  no  game ; 
for  the  beasts  of  the  forest  fled  before  us  in  fear, 
and  the  wolf,  hunger,  gnaws,  and  we  would  eat !  " 

He  accompanied  this  high-flown  speech  with 
such  pertinent  signs  that  Benham,  well  versed  in 
the  language  of  gesture,  had  no  difficulty  in  under 
standing  him.  He  motioned  to  the  chief  to  enter 


THE  MEDICINE-MAN  23 

the  house.  An  old,  withered,  pock-fretted  medi 
cine-man,  who  stood  high  among  them,  followed 
next  (for  they  were  as  jealous  of  precedence  as 
princes-royal),  who  chewed  between  his  worn 
teeth  a  bit  of  "she-she-note"  plant,  a  charm 
against  the  bite  of  rattlesnakes.  The  others 
followed  in  due  order,  but  the  humbler,  younger 
members  of  the  band  squatted  on  their  heels  out 
side  the  cabin,  and  waited  for  the  remnants  like 
hungry  dogs. 

The  savory  contents  of  the  dinner-pot  were 
poured  on  the  great  trencher,  and  the  chief  dipped 
first  into  the  scalding  mass  with  his  fingers,  then 
the  others  likewise,  all  wincing  with  pain,  but  so 
ravenous  as  not  to  heed  it.  Granny  looked  on 
with  the  brief  interest  of  age,  while  little  Jack 
gazed  with  open  mouth,  dismayed  at  the  dis 
appearance  of  his  dinner.  He  stood  shyly  at  his 
father's  elbow,  his  round  eyes  staring  at  the 
splendid  chief,  his  long  hair,  silky  and  fine  as 
thistle-down,  making  an  auriole  around  his  tenderly 
tinted  little  face,  in  vivid  contrast  to  the  dark- 
hued  savages. 

With  surprising  haste  they  appeased  a  not  in 
considerable  appetite,  when  the  lowlier  savages 
were  given  the  scanty  remnants. 

Ferriby  had  not  yet  returned  from  the  spring 


24  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

which  tempted  her  to  linger — so  beautiful  the  spot, 
so  fascinating  the  fair  water.  It  was  an  ideal  spot 
to  think  of  her  lover;  and  deep  in  dreams  she 
lingered  longer  than  she  knew. 

When  Vo-ka-nom-ik  and  Mah-moust,  the  medi 
cine-man,  had  finished  their  repast,  the  chief 
lighted  his  calumet  of  red  pipe-stone,  with  its 
long,  reed  stem.  Carved  in  high  relief  on  its 
bowl  was  an  antelope's  head,  the  totem  of  his 
tribe.  The  chief  gave  one  great  puff,  and  the 
blue  smoke  rose  in  a  gauzy  veil  about  his  painted 
features ;  then  he  passed  the  calumet  to  Benham, 
saying :  — 

"  The  Great  Spirit  once  threw  the  blood  of  a 
captive  maiden  of  our  tribe  upon  the  sun's  rays. 
They  fell  far  —  upon  her  people,  and  led  them 
to  the  spot  where  she  was  burned  at  the  stake  by 
our  enemies,  the  Illinois.  And,  lo  !  the  stones  she 
stood  upon  were  reddened  with  her  blood.  Of 
this  stone  the  Puans  ever  since  have  made  the 
calumet,  and  with  none  but  brothers  do  they 
smoke  it." 

He  placed  the  long,  reed  stem  in  the  hand  of 
Benham,  who  gravely  drew  one  whiff  and  handed 
it  back  to  Vo-ka-nom-ik,  who  passed  it  on  to 
Mah-moust,  the  medicine-man.  As  he  drew  the 
strong  vapor  of  mingled  willow  bark  and  tobacco 


THE   MEDICINE-MAN  25 

his  features  were  wreathed  in  so  dense  a  cloud, 
that  none  could  see  the  expression  of  devilish 
hate  that  agitated  them  for  a  moment.  In  pass 
ing  back  the  pipe  to  the  war  chief,  it  fell  and 
shivered  to  atoms. 

Vo-ka-nom-ik  gave  a  grunt,  stepped  back  from 
his  white  brother,  and  bent  a  look  of  suspicion 
upon  him ;  for  had  not  the  Great  Spirit  broken 
the  sacred  peace-pipe,  and  was  it  not  a  sign  of  his 
displeasure  ? 

Granny,  sitting  near  by,  spoke  quaveringly  to 
her  son,  dispelling  the  portentous  silence  that  fol 
lowed  the  accident :  — 

"  John,  maybe  the  medicine-man  can  cure  my 
feet.  If  I  could  only  get  round  on  them,  then  I 
could  help  Ferriby,  poor  girl !  " 

She  stooped  and  unrolled  the  bandages  from 
about  them,  removed  the  soothing  plantain,  — 
"  white-man's-foot,"  as  the  Indians  called  it,  —  and 
revealed  the  members,  ghastly  white,  swollen  to 
bursting.  Benham  motioned  to  Mah-moust  to 
look  at  them.  The  man  looked  down  sullenly, 
then  stooped  over  the  old  dame,  who  raised  faded, 
trustful  eyes  to  his  cruel  face,  to  see  if  she  could 
gain  anything  of  hope  from  it.  His  countenance 
was  as  stolid  as  the  carven  image  on  the  pipe  he 
had  just  now  wilfully  destroyed,  the  fragments  of 


26  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

which  the  little  child  was  gleefully  gathering  up, 
his  long  locks  sweeping  the  floor  in  stooping. 

Mah-moust  fumbled  at  his  belt,  uttered  a  great 
war-whoop,  and  before  his  intention  could  flash 
upon  the  brain,  his  hatchet  came  down  with  a 
frightful  crash.  There  was  a  gleam  of  twirling 
knife-blade,  and  the  old  woman  fell  back  dead, 
while  her  slayer  held  aloft  a  scalp-lock  of  long, 
silvery  hair.  His  wild  cry  acted  as  a  signal  to 
those  outside ;  there  was  a  rush  of  feet,  and  Ben- 
ham  and  the  child  were  brained  and  scalped 
before  they  could  realize  the  horror  of  their  fate. 

The  flaxen  locks  of  little  Jack,  dripping  with 
his  hot,  young  blood,  were  suspended  from  the 
belt  of  the  warrior  chief,  who  grunted  with  satis 
faction  as  he  stroked  the  soft  strands,  and  said :  — 

"  Many  presents  great  White  Father  give !  " 


CHAPTER   V 

AT   THE    SPRING 

IN  the  pleasant  privacy  of  the  spring  Ferriby 
was  lulled  into  dreamy  forgetfulness,  lost  in  rem 
iniscent  revery  of  her  lover.  Suddenly  the  smile 
was  frozen  on  her  parted  lips;  her  blood  paused 
in  its  gleeful  pulsing,  and  left  her  cheek  as  white 
as  the  clover  abloom  near  by.  Her  eyes 
widened  with  terror.  The  tocsin  of  the  wilder 
ness  had  sounded,  —  the  death-telling  war-whoop. 

For  an  instant  she  was  incapable  of  motion ; 
rousing  herself,  she  crept  noiselessly  up  the  path, 
careful  to  disturb  neither  pebble  nor  twig. 
When  within  her  own  height  of  the  top  of  the 
bluff,  she  paused,  raised  on  tiptoe,  and  peered 
within  the  cabin.  The  sight  she  saw  struck  her 
motionless ;  choked  her  with  horror,  so  she  could 
not  cry  aloud.  She  strove  to  rush  forward,  but 
her  limbs  refused  her  bidding.  Agony  nearly 
burst  her  eyeballs,  but  no  tear  would  come  when 
she  saw  the  gray  scalp-lock  flourished  aloft 
exultantly.  She  heard  and  felt  the  crash  of  the 

27 


28  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

blows  that  ended  her  father's  life,  and  the  shrill 
scream  of  the  little  one  cut  through  her  heart 
like  a  stab.  How  long  she  stared  in  a  coma  of 
horror,  she  did  not  know,  but  at  last  Nature  put 
into  operation  in  her  the  first  great  law,  —  self- 
preservation.  Driven,  not  by  sentience,  but  by 
instinct,  she  retreated  stealthily  down  the  path 
to  the  creek,  launched  the  bark  canoe,  and  fled 
from  the  place  of  blood.  Every  stroke  of  the 
oar,  so  slow  and  difficult,  seemed  made  by 
leaden  arms.  She  despaired  of  reaching  the 
stockade.  At  last  she  arrived  —  to  find  it 
deserted ! 

She  knew  water  was  the  only  trail  that  left  no 
track  to  give  clew  to  the  subtle  red-man,  and 
again  she  set  off  in  the  frail  little  boat.  Below 
the  fall  the  creek  flowed  calmly  between  the 
walls  of  the  great  forest.  She  saw  the  startled 
deer  leap  into  its  depths  at  her  approach;  and 
wavering  crinkles  showed  where  the  otter  fled 
before  her,  the  turtles  dived  in  panic,  a  snake 
sunning  slid  into  the  water.  Everything  seemed 
possessed  of  fear  and  fled  for  life. 

A  dim  design  evolved  itself  from  out  her  dis 
traction.  She  would  seek  the  friendly  French 
in  their  village  on  the  great  Ouibache.  All  the 
streams  emptied  into  it,  and  she  knew  the  town 


AT  THE  SPRING  29 

lay  to  the  north  forty  miles   away.     She    rowed 
on,  helped  by  the  current,  now  swift,  now  slowed 
by  shallows,  till   she   came   to  where    the   great 
We-a1    Trail,  which  lead  southward  to  the  free 
hunting-grounds  of   the    Kentucky  country,  and 
northward  to  the  wide  We-a  plains,  crossed  the 
stream.     She  was   appalled  to  see  there   an  en 
campment    of    Indians.     But   they   wore   neither 
paint  nor  feathers,  a  token  they  were  not  a  hostile 
party.       The    bucks    were    lolling   at   ease;    the 
squaws  were   busied  about  the  servile  duties  of 
the  camp.    Pappooses  were  slung  on  saplings  and 
swung   idly  in  their  little  bark  baskets.     Before 
Ferriby  could    retreat   behind    the   bend   of   the 
stream  that  had  hidden  her,  the  Indians  discov 
ered  her,  and  gave  a  wild  shout.     One  splendid, 
brawny  youth  beckoned  for  her  to  come  to  shore, 
but   she  only  urged    on    the  canoe   faster.     She 
could  make  no  headway,  for  the  water  at  the  ford 
was  shallow,  or  impeded  by  great  boulder-stones, 
and  thwarted  her  design. 

At  the  young  buck's  discomfiture  the  others 
laughed  aloud.  Angered,  he  rushed  into  the 
water  where  it  was  waist-deep  among  the  boul 
ders,  and  with  one  hand  drew  the  canoe  after 
him  to  the  shore.  When  Ferriby  realized  that 


3O  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

the  worst  had  befallen  her,  a  merciful  apathy 
came  upon  her,  —  the  languor  of  complete 
exhaustion. 

The  exultant  brave  beckoned  to  his  two  young 
squaws  to  support  her  to  the  shade  of  an  oak. 
She  could  feel  the  cold  water  they  flung  over 
her,  and  taste  the  hot  liquor  from  the  dinner-pot; 
they  tried  to  force  her  to  swallow.  Her  brain 
refused  to  take  but  the  most  confused  cognizance 
when  they  bound  her  with  bark  ropes.  She 
dimly  heard  guttural  sounds;  then  silence. 
Nothingness ! 


CHAPTER   VI 

WITH    THE    SAVAGES 

DURING  Ferriby 's  stupor,  the  young  hunters 
who  had  been  sent  out  for  game  returned  and 
reported  to  the  chief  that  their  most  implacable 
foes,  the  Puans,  were  ravaging  the  wilderness. 
They,  Piankeshaws,  were  cumbered  with  squaws 
and  pappooses  on  a  peaceful  hunting  trip,  and 
their  only  recourse  was  immediate  flight.  Ferriby 
roused  to  find  the  camp  in  commotion.  The 
squaws  were  hastily  lading  ponies.  Pappooses 
were  bound  to  their  mother's  backs.  Everything 
portended  fear  and  flight. 

The  squaws  had  hardly  started  on  the  north 
ward  trail  which  led  to  their  village  on  the 
Ouibache,  opposite  Fort  Sackville,  when  remote, 
stealthy  sounds  became  audible ;  the  crackling  of 
a  twig,  the  brushing  by  a  shrub,  warned  of  the 
approach  of  their  enemy.  The  savages  had  not 
unbound  Ferriby,  leaving  that  for  the  last ;  and 
without  waiting  to  do  so  they  fled  as  noiselessly 
as  a  bevy  of  sere  leaves  before  the  wind. 

31 


32  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

When  the  young  warrior,  who  had  made 
Ferriby  prisoner,  got  well  within  the  screening  of 
a  hazel  copse,  he  looked  back,  paused  irresolutely, 
then  with  a  grunt,  expressive  of  some  emotion, 
sent  his  hatchet  flying  through  the  space  between 
them.  Swift  and  sure  it  came,  making  the  air 
whisper  of  its  sinister  purpose.  The  girl  saw  it, 
and  her  dull  wits  grasped  the  purport  of  its 
errand  ;  she  cringed  instinctively,  and  the  weapon 
buried  its  shining  edge  deep  in  the  bole  of  the 
tree  that  sustained  her,  severing  a  tress  of  her 
hair.  The  shock  of  the  impact,  the  horror  of  her 
narrow  escape,  prevented  her  from  seeing  what 
presaged  far  greater  evil,  —  the  hideous,  painted 
band  of  savages,  who  now  broke  from  covert. 
With  yells  and  cries  of  rage  they  burst  into  the 
deserted  camp.  When  they  beheld  the  forlorn 
girl,  they  glared  savagely,  and  one  fierce,  young 
warrior  rushed  upon  her,  brandishing  a  gleaming 
knife  ;  but  he  was  restrained  by  the  stern  com 
mand  of  the  war  chief.  Vo-ka-nom-ik  walked  in 
a  stately  fashion  toward  her,  followed  closely  by 
the  medicine-man,  Mah-moust.  He  uttered  half- 
articulate  sounds  of  satisfaction,  and  gathered 
together  the  severed  lock  of  hair,  which  had 
fallen  in  burnished  threads  across  her  shoulder, 
and  made  it  fast  to  his  head-dress.  Overstrained 


WITH  THE  SAVAGES  33 

to  the  last  degree,  Ferriby  was  seemingly  as  stolid 
as  the  savage  himself.  She  had  reached  a  state 
of  physical  and  mental  torpor,  where  nothing 
mattered.  Her  mood  incensed  the  Indian,  and 
he  snatched  from  the  belt  of  the  medicine-man  a 
long,  white,  dangling  fringe,  and  flung  it  at  her 
in  a  rage.  Her  eyes  grew  wild  with  terror.  Her 
dull  senses  revived,  and  recalled  the  ghastly 
tragedy ;  she  faintly  moaned.  No  power  remained 
in  her  to  give  other  sign. 

It  was  now  nearly  sunset.  After  unbinding 
their  captive  the  Indians  forced  her  to  follow  on 
foot,  lead  by  a  bark  rope,  like  an  animal.  When 
she  lagged,  they  lashed  her  smartly  with  tough 
whips  of  leatherwood.  It  happened  that  her 
guard,  Te-te-box-ke  (the  Twisting  Vine),  was  one 
of  the  younger  braves  in  whom  yet  remained 
some  sense  of  pity.  He  dropped  to  the  end  of 
the  file,  and  when  she  stumbled,  paused  to  give 
her  a  moment's  rest;  when  faint,  he  fetched 
her  a  draught  of  water  in  a  sweet,  faint- 
scented,  young  sycamore  leaf.  After  a  march 
of  many  miles  to  the  northward  they  reached 
their  encampment. 

Te-te-box-ke  imperiously  beckoned  to  a  young 
squaw  sitting  within  a  lodge  of  green  branches 
suckling  her  pappoose,  regarding  it  with  the 


34  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

jealous  fondness  of  a  wild  animal.  She  came 
obediently  at  his  beck,  like  a  well-trained  dog,  and 
shot  a  quick  glance  at  his  captive,  and  her  face 
fell  to  a  wayward  and  sullen  look ;  for  had  she  not 
been  Te-te-box-ke's  first  squaw  but  twelve  short 
moons  ?  Already  another ! 

"  Te-te-box-ke  wills  that  Mah-no  lead  to  her 
wigwam  the  white  maiden,  Ken-che-se-way ! " 

Mah-no  shot  fiery  glances  at  her  master,  which 
he  did  not  see,  for  he  was  fingering  enviously 
the  long  red-brown  locks  that  fell  to  Ferriby's 
waist,  one  of  which  floated  from  the  head-dress 
of  the  great  chief  Vo-ka-nom-ik,  his  father.  As 
the  long  strands  slipped  through  his  fingers  the 
girl  cowered,  and  threw  a  look  of  appeal  to  the 
young  squaw.  It  told  plainly  of  dread  and  loath 
ing  for  her  lord,  and  did  much  to  dispel  the 
savage  jealousy  of  Mah-no.  She  conducted 
Ferriby  to  her  lodge  where  she  made  her  fast, 
and  left  an  old  grandam  to  stand  guard  while 
she  joined  the  other  squaws  that  were  busily  pre 
paring  a  great  feast  in  honor  of  the  braves  who 
had  come  in  with  scalps. 

Ferriby  could  lie  at  ease,  and  almost  at  once 
heavy  slumber  fell  upon  her.  The  old  squaw 
sat  upon  the  ground,  and  nodded  and  dozed,  to 
wake  again  with  starts ;  the  pappoose  sprawling 


He  was  fingering  enviously  the  long  red-brown  locks." 


WITH   THE   SAVAGES  35 

on  a  silky  beaver  skin,  stared  with  beadlike  eyes 
at  the  leaves  fluttering  in  the  gentle  breeze. 

The  forest  sank  into  silence.  The  dull  sky, 
stained  a  faint  primrose  in  the  west,  brought 
into  high  relief  the  small  flame-lit  circle.  The 
warriors  sprawled  on  the  ground,  or  sat  with 
their  knees  bunched,  their  slim  hands  clasped 
upon  them,  on  the  windward  side  of  the  fire, 
impassive  and  saturnine,  smoking  or  drowsing. 
Now  and  then  they  sucked  their  lips  when  the 
veering  wind  brought  a  whiff  of  savory  steam 
from  the  kettle. 

Night  prowlers  lurked  fascinated  outside  the 
radiant  circle,  peeping  with  glowing  eyes  from 
snug  hiding-places.  A  squaw  threw  fresh  fuel 
on  the  fire  ;  instantly  tranquillity  departed.  The 
ashes  were  knocked  from  pipes.  The  young 
braves  stretched  and  grunted  and  leaped  to  their 
feet.  The  kettle  was  swung  from  the  fire  and  set 
upon  the  ground.  The  hungry  braves  gathered 
round  it,  and  fell  to  eating  greedily,  till  appetites 
were  sated. 

The  night  air  began  to  chill ;  moist  breezes 
crept  from  the  forest;  the  squaws  piled  logs  on 
the  heap  of  red  embers,  and  around  it  basked  the 
warriors,  staring  fixedly,  dreaming  dreams  and 
seeing  visions,  till  at  last  each  form  fell  back 


36  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

supinely  in  slumber.     Then  the  humble  squaws 
sought  rest. 

Ferriby  roused  with  a  great  start,  and  almost 
shrieked  aloud  at  a  touch ;  but  a  small,  firm  hand 
crushed  her  lips  against  her  teeth.  In  the  gleam 
of  the  now  westering  moon  she  saw  the  young 
Indian  girl,  Mah-no,  bending  over  her.  Re 
moving  her  hand,  the  squaw  signed  to  her  to 
rise,  and  with  painful  effort  Ferriby  accomplished 
it.  Mah-no  held  in  her  hand  a  keen  scalping- 
knife,  which  Ferriby  saw  with  dull  thankfulness; 
but  the  Indian  girl  shook  her  head,  as  if  she 
read  her  thoughts,  and  cut  the  bark  rope  that 
bound  her.  She  rubbed  her  chafed  wrists  and 
ankles  with  a  soothing  unguent,  removed  her 
worn  moccasins,  and  replaced  them  with  stout 
ones  of  buffalo  hide.  Bending  her  back,  she 
motioned  for  her  to  mount.  Wondering  much, 
Ferriby  did  so,  and  clasped  the  squaw  around 
the  neck.  Mah-no,  used  to  burden-bearing, 
threaded  her  way  with  noiseless  step,  aloof  from 
the  sleeping  warriors.  One  or  two  turned  un 
easily,  but  none  awoke.  Mah-no  neither  paused 
nor  hesitated  till  she  reached  the  stream,  where 
she  stepped  into  the  chill  water  and  waded  some 
rods  down  it ;  then  she  set  the  dazed  girl  on  her 
feet  in  the  little  river.  She  motioned  with  a 


WITH  THE  SAVAGES  37 

sweeping  gesture  to  the  northwest,  and  uttered 
softly  the  first  words  Ferriby  had  heard  her 
speak :  — 

"Ouibache  — O  Poste." 

Dulness  fell  away  as  hope  revived,  and  Ferriby 
comprehended  that  she  was  to  follow  the  stream 
to  the  great  river  and  from  thence  to  the  French 
settlement  at  O  Poste.  She,  who  a  few  moments 
before  would  have  welcomed  death,  was  now  eager 
to  live.  She  longed  for  the  protection  of  the 
whites,  and  no  hardship  was  too  great  to  secure  it, 
no  chance  too  small  to  use,  that  might  lead  to  it. 

She  pressed  the  little  tinted  hand  fervently  be 
tween  hers.  Mah-no's  cold  eyes  softened ;  she 
almost  smiled ;  she  motioned  to  indicate  haste, 
and  glided  away,  leaving  Ferriby  to  pursue  her 
desolate  way  through  the  trackless  water. 


CHAPTER   VII 

WANDERING    IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

THE  kindly  clock-stars  by  their  rising  and 
setting  told  off  the  hours  to  the  forlorn  wanderer. 
The  moon  grew  paler  till  it  was  but  a  wan  spot 
in  the  blue  overhead ;  the  glory  of  night-light 
began  to  fade  into  colorlessness  in  the  western 
sky.  Slowly  the  misty  dawn  came  through  the 
gloomy  forest.  Cold  dew  dripped  from  the  tips 
of  the  leaves.  The  birds  chirped  timidly  at  first, 
but  as  the  sun  flung  aside  the  dull  drapery  of  fog, 
they  broke  into  brave  rejoicing. 

To  Ferriby  the  hours  of  the  night  had  seemed 
endless.  She  had  followed  the  stream  till  her 
body  was  numbed  by  the  chill  water.  Her 
wearied  body  pleaded  for  rest,  and  she  clambered 
painfully  up  a  steep  bluffside  to  find  sanctuary 
where  the  savage  might  not  come.  Halfway  up 
its  face  she  found  a  shallow  cave,  and  before  it 
sassafras  and  spicewood  made  a  fragrant  ambus 
cade.  She  crept  into  it,  and  threw  herself  down 
upon  the  dry  leaves  a  beneficent  wind  had  stored 

38 


WANDERING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  39 

there  in  readiness  for  some  weary  creature. 
Sleep  fell  upon  her  instantly,  so  deathlike  as  to 
hardly  keep  the  creature  animate.  She  slept  and 
woke  briefly,  to  slumber  again  the  round  of 
twenty-four  hours.  When  she  was  thoroughly 
awake,  Memory,  refreshed,  laid  hold  on  her  and 
tortured  her  anew.  What  was  left  to  her  in  life  ? 
her  kindred  perished ;  her  lover  gone,  perhaps 
slain  on  the  trail  by  the  same  murderous  band. 
All  were  swept  away  by  a  fearful  stroke  of  Fate. 
Through  these  anguished  reflections  pierced  the 
words  of  the  squaw:  "  Ouibache  —  O  Poste  !  " 
How  could  she  hope  to  find  it  ?  Her  wanderings 
had  taken  her  miles  to  the  northward ;  the  very 
creek  below  her  was  unknown  to  her,  but  she 
knew  that  sooner  or  later  all  the  streams  in  the 
wilderness,  however  devious,  found  the  great  river. 
A  sickening  hunger  prostrated  her;  all  about 
her  was  food  for  bird  and  beast,  but  none  for  her. 
It  was  too  soon  for  the  wild  strawberries,  and  the 
blackberries  were  but  tangles  of  snowy  bloom. 
Thirst  parched  her  lips,  and  she  descended  to  the 
stream  to  drink.  She  bathed  her  face  and  hands 
and  swollen  feet,  and  threaded  her  matted  hair 
with  her  fingers  to  plait  it  into  braids.  Her  form 
had  changed  none  in  the  hours  of  her  flight ;  but 
her  face  —  what  sad  changes  can  befall  the  human 


4O  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

countenance  in  a  short  time  from  grief  and  terror  ? 
There  was  a  look  of  old,  hopeless  sorrow  upon  it. 
Her  smooth  forehead  was  drawn  to  wrinkles  be 
tween  the  arched  brows ;  her  eyes  beneath  were 
dark  and  dull  with  pain  uneased  by  tears.  Her 
lips  had  lost  their  charming  curves,  and  were 
pressed  together  in  a  straight,  faded  line.  Her 
cheeks  had  lost  their  bloom,  and  were  as  white 
as  the  rounds  of  elder  blossoms,  growing  by  the 
stream.  Her  step  had  lost  its  buoyancy,  and  she 
crept  along  with  the  feeble  caution  of  age.  Re 
freshed  by  the  draught  of  water  she  took  up  the 
weary  march  and  passed  on  into  the  rolling  land 
when  a  sudden  cry  roused  her  to  danger.  It  was 
the  gobble  of  a  wild  turkey.  She  well  knew  that 
the  savage  decoyed  his  victim  with  this  cry  so 
lifelike  as  to  deceive  the  very  wood-rangers  them 
selves.  She  plunged  into  the  forest  with  frantic 
haste,  and  kept  on  till  suddenly  it  came  to  an  end. 
Before  her  lay  a  dazzling  plain  that  stretched 
endlessly  till  it  climbed  afar  to  the  very  heavens. 
Visible  loneliness !  As  she  stared  out  upon  the 
vast  green  prairie  something  strange  happened  to 
her.  It  was  as  if  a  great  hand  had  blinded  her 
and  spun  her  swiftly  round  and  round,  as  children 
play,  then  freed  her,  to  find  that  she  had  lost  all 
sense  of  direction.  Desperate  moment !  She  ad- 


WANDERING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS  41 

vanced  a  few  steps  in  one  direction  only  to  retrace 
them.  She  hastened  in  another,  to  pause  terrified. 
The  loud  beating  of  her  heart,  the  humming  in 
her  ears,  silenced  other  sounds.  She  sternly  at 
tempted  to  regain  self-control  and  calm.  Again 
she  heard  the  wild  turkey's  cry.  She  turned  to 
follow  the  sound,  hoping  to  find  its  nest  and  in  it 
food.  She  advanced  but  a  few  yards  when  she 
came  upon  what  she  had  desperately  feared  to 
encounter,  —  a  swarthy  man.  His  head  was 
reared  above  the  tufts  of  long  weeds  which  had 
hidden  him.  His  rifle  was  aimed  ready,  as  she 
came  in  range.  Her  last  vestige  of  strength  fled ; 
she  slipped  to  the  ground  lifelessly. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

LE    COUREUR    DE    BOIS 

"  By  all  the  holy  saints  in  heaven !  what  have 
we  here  ? "  cried  the  man,  when  he  beheld  a 
woman  fall  to  the  ground  before  his  amazed  eyes. 
His  rifle  slid  from  his  hands ;  he  leaped  from 
covert  to  her  side  to  see  what  manner  of  creature 
it  might  be.  When  he  bent  over  her,  his  surprise 
knew  no  bounds.  A  girl,  alone  in  the  great  wil 
derness,  where,  possibly,  no  being  of  her  sex  had 
trod  before,  in  a  spot  to  which  he,  familiar  with 
its  mazes,  had  never  penetrated  hitherto.  He  who 
knew  the  great  woods  and  plains  stretching  from 
Omee  to  La  Belle  Riviere  as  few  did.  It  was 
incredible ! 

"  Oh !  thou  poor  little  one,"  he  cried  with  ten 
der  compassion  as  he  looked  into  her  wan  young 
face ;  "  it  is  well  for  thee  thou  fell  at  the  feet  of 
Hillaire  St.  Vrain,  rude  barbarian,  coureur  of  the 
woods  as  he  is,  than  before  those  two-legged  red 
beasts  that  ravage  the  forest.  For  he  has  not 

42 


LE   COUREUR   DE   BOIS  43 

forgot  what  he  once  was,  and,  by  the  blood  of  his 
ancestors,  will  succor  the  weak." 

He  spoke  aloud  volubly  in  French  —  his  own 
tongue  —  while  he  busied  himself  in  trying  to  re 
suscitate  the  girl  by  every  means  he  could  recall. 
He  even  poured  a  few  drops  of  brandy  between 
her  white  lips ;  but  the  rigid  muscles  refused  to 
swallow,  and  it  dribbled  from  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  He  shook  her  gently  at  first,  then 
smartly  —  to  no  purpose.  Terror  held  her  in 
a  coma. 

"  Dieu  des  dieux !  She  will  perish  utterly 
here !  Those  beasts,  those  devilish  beasts,  they 
have  driven  her  forth !  Oh,  poor  White  Dove ! 
How  young  she  is !  " 

He  gently  parted  the  lids  of  the  closed  eye  and 
looked  into  the  orb  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  blessed  be  the  Good  One,  she  lives ! 
What  now  ?  The  poor  little  one  cannot  remain 
here.  But  how  to  remove  her  ?  " 

He  pondered  deeply  while  he  gently  stroked 
one  of  the  girl's  slim  brown  hands  —  scratched  by 
briers,  stung  by  nettles  —  with  fingers  as  dark  as 
if  stained  with  walnut  juice.  He  laid  her  hand 
down  across  her  breast  as  we  do  those  of  the  dead 
and  looked  at  her  wayworn  feet,  bruised  and  swol 
len,  on  which  the  ragged  moccasins  scarcely  held 


44  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

together,  and  at  her  gown  torn  by  the  clutching 
briers  and  slashing  bush. 

"  Ah,  heaven !  the  poor  one  has  wandered  far, 
and  she  has  not  eaten.  No  !  Miserable !  mise 
rable  ! "  and  he  gazed  pitifully  again  into  her 
sunken  face,  and  let  fall  two  large  tears  upon  it, 
at  which  Ferriby  stirred,  then  became  motionless 
again. 

But  St.  Vrain,  the  boldest  coureur  between 
Detroit  and  Kaskaskia,  was  not  a  man  without 
resources;  he  had  not  ranged  the  forest  for 
naught.  He  stripped  a  shrub  of  its  tough  bark, 
by  means  of  which  he  slung  his  rifle  across  his 
back,  first  withdrawing  the  load.  He  then  raised 
the  girl  in  his  arms  so  that  her  head  fell  inertly 
over  his  shoulder.  He  groaned  sympathetically 
at  the  lightness  of  his  load. 

The  coureur  turned  about  and  walked  half  a 
league  within  the  thin  fringe  of  the  forest,  pausing 
now  and  then  to  rest.  He  crossed  a  short  arm  of 
the  great  prairie,  the  magnitude  of  which  had 
overwhelmed  Ferriby,  had  smitten  her  with  fear, 
and  had  mazed  her  senses.  Before  him  lay  the 
broad,  brown  sheet  of  the  stately  Ouibache.  It 
was  fringed  along  the  margin  with  green  willows 
and  young  sycamores,  whose  vernal  leaves  gave  out 
a  faint,  sweet  odor  from  their  fuzzy  under  sides. 


LE  COUREUR  DE  BOIS  45 

The  banks  of  the  river  were  shallow  at  this 
point  and  for  the  most  part  muddy,  but  here  and 
there  were  patches  of  shingle.  On  one  of  these, 
sheltered  by  the  long,  drooping  branches  of  a  wil 
low,  he  lay  down  his  burden. 

He  drew  from  its  hiding-place  the  smallest 
and  frailest  of  birch-bark  canoes.  Its  dark  red 
tone  showed  it  to  be  of  winter-stripped  bark, 
more  highly  valued  than  the  light-hued  summer 
bark.  Its  trim  gunwales  were  of  dark  red  aro 
matic  cedar,  and  its  long  oar,  which  the  coureur 
generally  used,  was  of  the  same  odorous  wood. 
A  pair  of  slight  paddles  lay  in  brackets  on  each 
side. 

St.  Vrain  looked  narrowly  to  see  if  the  little 
boat's  contents  had  been  tampered  with, —  a 
small  metal  despatch  box,  which  he  had  carried 
safely  thus  far  from  the  governor  at  Detroit,  down 
the  Maumee,  across  the  nine  miles  of  portage  at 
Ke-ki-on-ga,  thence  by  the  great  Ouibache,  pass 
ing  in  safety  and  without  incident  the  Indian  vil 
lage  Keth-tip-pe-ka-nunk  and  the  We-a  towns  on 
his  way  to  O  Poste.  The  small  remnant  of  the 
journey  was  comparatively  safe.  There  were  few 
unfriendly  savages  to  molest  if  he  kept  to  the 
great  waterway  till  he  reached  Fort  Sackville. 
Tempted  by  the  prospect  of  finding  game,  he  had 


46  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

made  landing  at  this  spot,  and  had  wandered  on 
and  on  to  the  place  where  he  had  found  Ferriby. 

Now  his  fragile  craft  must  bear  an  added  bur 
den,  which,  though  slight,  might  well  overtax  its 
feeble  strength,  nicely  calculated  and  suited  to 
the  coureur's  purpose.  It  must  be  risked.  It  was 
the  only  means  of  rescue.  How  to  accomplish 
this  must  be  pondered  well.  At  last  he  settled  it 
to  his  satisfaction.  His  black  brows  unknit,  his 
tightened  lips  relaxed  pleasantly.  He  drew  the 
canoe  up  on  the  shallow  bank  a  little  way.  Then 
he  lifted  Ferriby  and  placed  her  gently  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  leaving  a  tiny  space  at  the 
stern  in  which  to  wedge  himself.  Over  her  face 
he  laid  twigs  of  sycamore,  whose  fanlike  leaves 
made  a  grateful  screen  from  the  sun.  When  all 
was  done  he  gazed  at  the  motionless  figure,  sighed 
softly,  pushed  the  craft  gently  into  the  water,  and 
by  a  dexterous  movement  was  aboard,  while  the 
little  canoe  dipped  and  danced  perilously  like  a 
dry  pod,  for  a  moment,  on  the  bosom  of  the  broad 
river. 

He  dipped  the  long  oar  gently,  as  he  stood 
upright,  that  no  sprightly  trick  of  the  canoe 
should  disturb  the  girl.  Now  he  watched  cau 
tiously,  where  once  he  had  been  the  most  reckless 
of  oarsmen,  that  not  the  smallest  wavelet  might 


LE  COUREUR  DE  BOIS  47 

leap  aboard  to  dampen  her  garments.  From  time 
to  time  he  looked  down  at  her  anxiously;  her 
silence  was  so  like  death. 

"The  tender  one,"  he  murmured  softly;  "it 
is  but  the  kindness  of  le  bon  Dieu  that  keeps  her 
senses  sealed  till  she  reach  safety." 

The  coureur  was  wise  in  forest-lore,  and  knew 
that  terror  and  exhaustion  left  a  torpor  like  death, 
which  shrouded  the  senses  for  days  like  a  great 
obscuring  cloud  above  an  active  volcano,  and 
many  times  it  never  lifted. 

They  tranquilly  progressed  down-stream;  for 
Ferriby's  wanderings  had  taken  her  to  the  north 
of  the  village  she  sought:  sometimes  propelled 
by  the  oar  through  shallows  so  lifeless,  the  water 
scarcely  bore  along  a  leaf  fallen  from  an  over 
hanging  willow ;  sometimes  over  chattering  riffles. 

At  last,  near  sunset,  the  fluttering  of  a  barred 
red  and  white  flag  came  in  view  when  they 
reached  the  outermost  rim  of  a  great  bend  in  the 
river.  An  inward  sweep  of  three  miles  brought 
the  canoe  under  the  northern  blockhouse  of  a 
strong,  well-built  log  fortress,  a-top  of  which  flut 
tered  languidly  the  British  ensign,  and  safety  and 
help  were  at  hand. 


CHAPTER    IX 

LE    DONNE 

GASTON  BEVARD  was  walking  along  the  narrow 
foot-path,  on  top  of  the  low  river  bank,  which 
shelved  gently  to  the  water's  edge.  But  he  was 
not  looking  at  the  setting  sun  in  his  declining 
magnificence  of  gold  and  scarlet  that  stained  the 
sky  deeply,  streamed  far  across  the  green  plain 
athwart  the  river,  and  cast  a  transient  glow  on 
the  eastern  heavens. 

Nor  was  his  look  consistent  with  his  prior  occu 
pation,  nor  with  his  garb ;  for  he  had  been  con 
ning  a  breviary,  and  he  wore  the  gown  of  a 
donne.  From  one  slender  tinted  hand  dangled 
the  beads  he  had  been  counting. 

He  was  watching  the  play  of  a  troop  of  Indian 
girls  swimming  near  the  west  shore  of  the  river, 
where  the  Piankeshaw  village  was  situated.  It 
lay  opposite  the  old  French  post,  St.  Vincent, 
shortened  by  the  villagers  into  O  Poste,  and  thus 
commonly  called  by  the  French.  To  the  right 
lay  the  fort,  flaunting  in  French  faces  its  hated 

48 


LE   DONNfi  49 

cross-bars,  where  a  score  of  years  ago  had  floated 
the  lilies  of  France  over  this  broad  domain  of  the 
Illinois  country,  which  had  been  cozened  from 
them. 

Bevard  was  a  singular  creature  —  the  illicit  off 
spring  of  an  English  officer  and  an  Indian  girl. 
Like  many  such  he  had  fallen  to  the  care  of 
the  Jesuit  fathers,  and  as  a  "  donne  "  was  liter 
ally  "  given  to  the  church,"  to  be  devoted  to  her 
service  —  a  matter  in  which  he  had  no  voice,  a 
calling  for  which  he  had  little  aptitude.  For  such 
purpose  he  had  been  trained  from  the  day  his 
young  mother  drowned  herself  on  the  departure 
of  the  troop,  and  her  consequent  desertion.  His 
tongue  spoke  French,  but  his  soul  was  savage. 
The  dark  stain  of  his  skin,  the  delicately  curved 
nose,  the  straight  black  hair  hanging  on  his 
shoulders,  the  lithe,  slender  figure,  with  its  noise 
less  following  feet  that  trod  in  a  straight  line; 
the  striking  light  blue  eye  told  unmistakably  of 
the  admixture  of  Indian  and  English  blood. 
While  his  figure  was  slightly  built,  a  certain 
squareness  and  breadth  of  jaw  and  chin  and 
thickness  of  neck  were  had  from  his  white  ances 
try.  From  his  eyes  shone  the  libertine  passion 
of  the  white  as  he  gazed  on  the  innocent  frolic  of 
the  red  maidens.  At  the  moment  of  his  utmost 


5O  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

absorption  when  his  cheek  had  reddened  and  his 
moist  lips  had  fallen  slightly  apart,  he  was  roused 
by  a  shout  from  up  the  river.  At  once  he  re 
sumed  his  sedate  pacing  and  fell  to  reading 
piously.  Then  rang  out  a  second,  more  impa 
tient  call,  and  thrusting  beads  and  book  into  his 
breast,  he  hastened  to  the  river's  brink. 

At  that  moment  a  birch-bark  canoe  had  run  its 
slender  nose  aground.  A  man  jumped  quickly 
ashore,  grasped  it  by  the  prow,  and  dragged  it 
out  of  the  water.  Glancing  upward  he  recog 
nized  the  youth  approaching  rapidly. 

"  The  devil !  'Tis  surely  one  of  his  imps,  or 
the  evil  bird  that  ever  flutters  about  him !  "  ex 
claimed  the  oarsman.  St.  Vrain  raised  the 
green  veiling  from  the  face  of  his  passenger. 
"  It  seems  an  omen  of  ill  that  that  foul  coward 
should  be  the  first  to  see  her,"  he  muttered  dis 
contentedly.  "  My  poor  White  One !  Hilaire  St. 
Vrain  has  his  own  sins,  which  the  good  God 
forgive,"  and  he  crossed  himself  piously,  then 
started  in  surprise  at  the  long-neglected  act. 
"  It  must  have  been  her,  sweet  saint,  who  brought 
me  to  do  that,"  and  he  looked  reverently  on  the 
still  face. 

Gaston  was  now  within  hail,  and  the  coureur 
called:  — 


LE  DONNE  51 

"  Ho,  there,  Gaston !  I  would  have  your  help. 
Does  the  good  Father  Gibault  happen  to  be  at 
O  Poste  this  day?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  even  now  in  his  cabinet  in  the 
cabin  of  Manette  Tache." 

The  young  man  spoke  in  the  pure,  simple 
French  the  settlers  at  O  Poste  habitually  used, 
interspersed  with  English  military  phrases.  His 
shining  eyes  fastened  upon  the  prostrate  form  in 
the  little  canoe. 

"  Up  to  your  old  tricks,  eh,  St.  Vrain  ?  You 
are  a  bold  one  to  bring  her  here." 

"  Beast !     Unclean  pig !  "  raged  the  coureur. 

"  Ha !  ha !  A  miracle !  A  coureur  de  bois 
turned  virtuous.  'Tis  as  good  as  the  devil  fillip 
ing  the  blessed  sign  with  holy  water,"  and 
Bevard  laughed  mockingly. 

"  Thou  priest's  cub,  lend  a  hand  and  cease 
thy  vile  clack!  You,  a  servant  of  the  holy 
church !  Better  join  thy  bastard  kind  across  the 
river,"  and  St.  Vrain  jerked  a  thumb  contemp 
tuously  toward  the  Indian  village. 

A  deep  red  ran  swiftly  over  the  donne's 
smooth  brown  cheeks,  and  wild  hate  flashed 
from  his  pale  eyes,  his  lips  curled  savagely  from 
his  white  teeth  in  ferine  rage ;  he  fumbled  at 
his  belt,  but  no  knife  was  there.  The  coureur 


52  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

on  guard  watched  him  coolly  and  laughed 
tauntingly. 

"  Not  even  a  '  priest's  cub '  will  take  insult 
from  the  lowest  of  men  —  a  coureur  de  bois,  a 
wood  ranger !  Outcast !  Vermin !  Later  you 
will  settle  with  me.  Keep  thy  squaw  to 
thyself." 

"  Squaw !  squaw !  it  is  no  squaw,  as  you  could 
see  had  you  not  the  evil  eye  that  can  only  see 
in  blackness.  'Tis  a  White  Dove !  an  Ameri 
can  !  "  Pity  made  him  lose  his  anger,  his  voice 
softened,  and  he  spoke  more  to  himself  than  to 
Gaston. 

"  She  would  have  perished  miserably  but  for 
the  good  God  directing  my  steps  to  her.  More 
than  that  I  know  not." 

His  mood  changed  again  when  he  looked  up 
at  Bevard's  sneering  face,  and  he  said  curtly :  — 

"  Lay  hold,  there !  Help  me  carry  her  to  the 
good  father.  He  will  know  what  to  do.  Beast ! 
Pig ! "  he  wound  up  abruptly,  as  Gaston  moved 
negligently  off  with  a  derisive  laugh. 

"  Not  I ! "  he  flung  over  his  shoulder.  "  A 
black  buzzard  may  not  company  with  a  '  White 
Dove.'  'Tis  against  the  purpose  of  the  good 
God  himself,"  and  he  sprang  lightly  up  the 
bank,  his  scant  student's  robe  scarcely  giving 


LE  DONNE  53 

him  room  for  his  long,  swift  strides,  as  the 
coureur  rushed  upon  him  with  doubled  fists. 

"  It  is  strange,"  St.  Vrain  said  to  himself,  "  how 
I  loathe  yonder  beast.  Toad !  Pig !  Never 
do  I  meet  him  by  chance  but  at  once  we  fall 
a-quarrelling.  Why,  it  would  be  hard  to  say." 

His  antagonism  was  that  of  an  intrinsically 
fine  nature  toward  an  essentially  coarse  one, 
coupled  with  the  instinctive  aversion  of  the  male 
for  its  illicit,  outcast  progeny ;  but  the  coureur 
was  not  well  enough  versed  in  the  occult  phases 
of  human  nature  to  know  it.  Of  the  gentle 
blood  of  the  old  noblesse  of  France,  but  of  the 
gross,  hard  nurturing  of  the  New  World,  he  knew 
little  of  the  fine  spiritual  unlikenesses  of  human 
character,  which  clash  discordantly  at  contact. 
Strong  and  sturdy,  fearless  and  intrepid,  taking 
his  pleasures  none  too  delicately,  like  his  kind, 
yet  in  his  soul  were  stowed  tender  sensibilities 
he  scarcely  was  aware  of,  and  which  his  life  was 
not  calculated  to  awaken.  This  was  almost  the 
first  exercise  of  that  fine  chivalry  of  his  forebears, 
his  by  inheritance;  and  he  was  roused  to  a 
pitch  of  anger  and  disgust  he  had  never  before 
reached,  to  be  thus  vilely  accused  by  one  whom 
he  thought  all  brute,  that  was  not  all  hypocrite. 

As  he  bent  over  Ferriby  and  wistfully  looked 


54  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

into  her  face,  his  throat  swelled  painfully,  so  that 
great  tears  were  forced  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
brushed  them  off  without  a  particle  of  that 
shamefacedness  one  of  another  race  would  have 
shown  at  thus  yielding  to  emotion. 

"  Thou  poor,  deserted,  innocent  one,"  he  mur 
mured  pityingly. 

At  that  moment  a  pirogue  put  into  shore  be 
neath  the  walls  of  the  southern  blockhouse,  some 
distance  below,  and  the  solitary  rower  disem 
barked. 

"  For  the  love  of  the  Virgin,  lend  a  hand 
here  !  "  called  St.  Vrain. 

The  man  approached  quickly,  and  when  close 
enough  for  recognition,  St.  Vrain  removed  his 
gaudy  wool  cap  with  its  quivering  gold  tassel, 
and  made  a  courteous  obeisance. 

"  Monsieur  Vigo,  how  happy  I  am  to  behold 
you !  See  what  Destiny  has  dropped  before 


me." 


Monsieur  Vigo,  a  spouse  of  a  few  weeks,  a 
widower  of  some  years,  looked  timidly  down 
upon  the  gentle  freight  of  the  canoe. 

"  A  strange  bestowal,  I  think.  And  of  all  men, 
on  thee  St.  Vrain !  The  most  reckless,  daring, 
loose  coureur  in  the  great  Northwest." 

"  Not  as  he  is,"  said  the  coureur,  answering  the 


LE  DONNE  55 

last  implication,  nodding  toward  the  fast  disap 
pearing  donne;  —  "I  have  one  little  shred  of 
decency  and  compassion  left ! " 

A  look  of  contempt  crossed  the  swarthy  face 
of  the  Sardinian.  "  God  ever  defend  you  from  be 
coming  such  as  he,"  said  he  with  fervor.  "  But 
what's  to  be  done  with  the  maid  ?  "  he  questioned. 
"  I  cannot  take  her  to  my  bachelor  quarters  here, 
nor  have  you,  St.  Vrain,  so  much  as  a  thatch  to 
cover  your  head."  His  eye  turned  commiserat- 
ingly  to  the  face  of  the  girl. 

"  Monsieur,  I  had  thought  to  bear  her  to  Ma- 
nette's.  Yon  talking  beast  has  just  told  me  that 
Father  Gibault  is  now  on  his  visitation  to 
O  Poste,  and  I  would  consult  with  him." 

"  'Tis  surely  a  miracle.  I  would  see  him  my 
self.  I  have  but  just  arrived  from  Biloxi  with 
news  from  France  which  I  must  impart  to  him 
straightway,  and  had  thought  to  set  out  across 
the  Drowned  Lands  for  Kaskaskia  on  the  mor 
row,  after  my  business  here  was  despatched.  Yes, 
yes ;  that  is  the  best  thing  to  do.  The  good 
father  will  surely  provide  something  for  the  poor 
little  one.  But  what  will  you  have  of  me  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  lend  a  hand,  we  will  bear  her  in 
the  canoe  to  Manette's  house." 

"  It  is  a  good  thought,"  answered  Vigo,  and  he 


56  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

showed  his  willingness  by  at  once  laying  hold  on 
the  end  of  the  canoe  nearest  him.  Thus  it  was 
that  the  whole  village  was  startled  at  the  spectacle 
of  'Sieur  Vigo,  and  that  most  devil-may-care  of 
all  wood  rangers,  entering  the  house  of  Madame 
Tache,  carrying  a  small  birch-bark  canoe  between 
them,  as  gently,  Manette  said,  as  if  it  were  filled 
with  roc's  eggs,  to  a  chorus  of  shrill  ejaculations 
and  questions  from  that  worthy  dame  peeping 
from  her  own  door. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE  PRIEST'S  GUEST 

GOOD  Father  Gibault  raised  startled  eyes  from 
his  plate,  for  he  was  at  his  frugal  supper,  a  morsel 
of  dried  venison,  a  bit  of  bread,  and  a  cup  of 
native  wine,  which  Manette  had  served  to  him,  as 
it  was  now  fully  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  St. 
Vrainhad  thrown  the  door  wide,  without  ceremony, 
and  pushed  through  it  with  his  strange  cargo. 

"  At  your  old  tricks,  eh,  my  son  ?  "  the  priest 
cried  with  an  indulgent  smile,  for  St.  Vrain  was 
as  prankish  as  an  ill-trained  puppy.  "  You,  too, 
Monsieur  Vigo  ?  "  he  continued,  but  with  a  change 
of  tone  from  indulgence  to  surprise,  as  Vigo 
entered.  "  What  have  you  here  ?  " 

"  Father,  we  bring  a  poor  forlorn  one ;  barely 
escaped  from  the  savages,  we  think." 

Father  Gibault  arose  hastily,  and  bent  over  the 
girl,  examining  her  narrowly. 

"  I  fear  she's  past  shriving,"  he  murmured. 

Father  Gibault  had  lived  long  enough  in  the 
Great  Wilderness  to  know  all  its  perils  for  the 

57 


58  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

hardy  women  who  followed  the  fortunes  of 
the  frontiersmen.  He  knew  of  the  dangers  that 
menaced  from  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest;  but 
held  to  be  far  worse,  unspeakably  more  terrible, 
the  tortures  and  outrages  inflicted  by  savages. 
Here  was  but  another  victim  added  to  the  num 
berless  slain.  He  lifted  the  tangled  braid  of  soft 
brown  hair,  —  expecting  to  find  it  matted  with 
blood,  —  parted  the  pallid  eyelids,  and  said :  — 

"No;  she  lives  —  an  American  who  has 
escaped  from  the  savages  by  the  guidance  of  le 
bon  Dieu.  She  has  evidently  not  been  in  cap 
tivity  long,  if  at  all,  for  there  are  no  marks  of 
violence  upon  her." 

"  None,  father.  When  I  found  her  she  mis 
took  me  for  a  foul  savage  and  fell  all  of  a  heap 
senseless.  And  thus  she  has  been  ever  since." 

"  It  is  not  uncommon,"  said  the  priest,  "  that 
such  torpor  follows  on  great  terror  or  extreme 
fatigue.  The  good  God  sometimes  orders  it  that 
the  brain  be  sealed  so  that  the  tortures  of  memory 
may  not  sap  the  wearied  body  to  death.  If  this 
brain  were  active,  it  could  doubtless  recall,  and 
this  tongue  tell  of  horrors  at  which  we  strong 
men  would  blench.  The  merciful  One  will  in 
good  time  remove  this  insensibility.  And  if 
never,  His  will  be  done,  for  it  is  righteous," 


THE  PRIEST'S  GUEST  59 

The  priest  stepped  to  the  door  between  the 
two  rooms  of  the  cabin  and  called :  "  Manette ! 
Manette !  "  to  the  woman  without. 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  Vigo  to  Father  Gibault's 
former  observation,  "yes,  I  have  seen  cases 
like  this  among  strong  men  after  a  long-forced 
march  or  a  fierce  engagement.  But  with  such 
extreme  delicacy  of  physique  I  fear  — "  and  he 
shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

St.  Vrain  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  both 
of  whom,  it  was  evident,  he  considered  superior 
beings.  His  face  twitched  with  feeling:  now 
blanching  in  pity,  then  clearing  with  hope,  every 
emotion  of  his  volatile  nature  passing  over  his 
visage  like  shadows  across  a  mirror. 

"  For  the  love  of  the  Holy  Mother,  don't  tell 
me  she  will  die,"  he  faltered. 

Gaston  Bevard  suddenly  entered  by  the  con 
necting  door  as  he  spoke.  The  coureur,  true  to 
his  nature,  found  relief  for  his  feelings  in  action, 
and  fell  to  pacing  the  floor.  As  he  neared  the 
priest's  pupil,  Gaston  observed  sneeringly,  aside:  — 

"Has  not  had  reprisal  yet?  White  maids  are 
not  such  easy  game  as  red,  it  would  seem." 

Low  as  the  sneer  was  spoken,  Father  Gibault 
overheard  it,  looked  at  the  youth  sternly,  and 
said  bitterly :  — 


60  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  Will  you  never  be  able  to  conquer  the  savage 
in  you,  Gaston?  Go  to  the  church  and  pray 
before  the  altar  an  hour  that  the  good  God  will 
cleanse  thy  foul  heart." 

For  an  instant  Gaston  looked  fierce  and  rebel 
lious;  but  seeing  no  wavering  of  purpose  in  the 
priest's  face,  he  turned  and  departed  so  swiftly 
his  beads  cracked  loudly  against  the  door-jamb. 

"  He  is  a  born  savage,"  observed  Vigo,  "  despite 
his  noble  English  blood.  A  pretty  legacy  the 
honorable  captain  left  you,  father." 

"  God's  will  be  done.  He  has  been  my  heavy 
cross  these  ten  years.  Alas !  that  I  should  forget 
that  there  was  One  who  bore  a  heavier  without  a 
plaint,"  and  he  raised  his  crucifix  and  gazed 
remorsefully  on  the  piteous  image  of  the  cruci 
fied  One.  "  I  sometimes  fear  that  Gaston  may  be 
among  the  lost.  But  saved  he  shall  be  if  the 
Holy  Church  can  accomplish  it,"  he  concluded 
with  unexpected  energy,  while  the  light  of  fanat 
icism  leaped  to  his  dark  eyes,  that  died  out  the 
next  moment  before  the  gentle  pity  with  which 
he  regarded  the  girl,  as  his  downcast  glance  fell 
upon  her. 

Just  then  Manette  entered,  fat  and  fussy,  and 
broke  into  voluble  chatter. 

"  And  didst  thou  bring  this  little  one,  Hilaire  ?  " 


THE   PRIEST'S  GUEST  6 1 

she  asked  of  the  coureur.  "  And  where  did  you 
find  her?  And  who  may  she  be?"  She 
stooped  over  her,  then  started  back.  "  By  all  the 
Saints,  she's  dead!  The  pretty  one  is  dead/" 
and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  apron  with  loud 
moanings  of  pity,  and  rocked  her  huge  bulk  from 
side  to  side. 

"  Control  thyself,"  said  Father  Gibault,  sharply. 
"  She  is  not  dead,  but  will  be  if  thy  good  offices  be 
not  brought  into  operation  soon.  Go,  heat  wine 
and  milk,  that  we  may  give  her  a  little  nourish 
ment.  For  I  doubt  not  she  is  famished,  and 
much  of  her  condition  is  due  to  that." 

They  removed  the  girl  to  a  low  couch  covered 
with  fine  skins,  gifts  to  the  father  from  the  red 
converts  who  lived  in  the  village  opposite.  This 
apartment  in  Manette's  log  house  was  always 
held  in  readiness  for  Father  Gibault  on  his  visita 
tions,  when  he  came  a  wearisome  journey  of  two 
hundred  miles  from  Kaskaskia,  the  seat  of  his 
charge  which  extended  over  the  whole  southern 
part  of  the  Illinois  country  to  the  Ouibache. 

Manette  bustled  about,  elated  with  the  impor 
tance  of  being  the  only  one  who  could  really 
minister  to  the  girl,  an  unheeded  tear  sliding  now 
and  again  over  her  red,  globular  cheek.  She 
moved  as  heavily  in  her  deer-hide  moccasins  as  in 


62  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

the  thick  wooden  sabots  of  her  native  province  of 
France,  which  she  wore  in  the  winter.  Indeed, 
her  whole  habit  was  copied  as  nearly  as  possible 
from  the  one  worn  in  her  youth. 

The  French  in  the  Great  Wilderness  had  little 
or  no  commerce  with  the  "  Americans,"  as  they 
were  now  being  called,  and  their  habits  were  not 
in  the  least  influenced  by  them;  they  held  to  the 
customs  of  their  ancestors. 

Manette  went  to  the  kitchen  and  soon  re 
turned  with  hot  milk  and  wine.  But  the  priest 
would  not  permit  her  clumsy  hand  to  mix  and 
administer  it.  He  took  down  from  its  place  on  an 
old  mahogany  chiffonniere  an  antique  silver  cup, 
and  deftly  commingled  the  posset  in  it,  then 
motioned  to  St.  Vrain  to  raise  the  supine  head 
from  the  pillow.  The  bold,  lawless  coureur  trem 
bled,  and  colored  through  his  thick  tan,  as  he 
lifted  the  inert  form  in  his  arms,  and  pillowed  the 
languid  head  upon  his  broad  breast.  Vigo, 
shrewd  widower  of  middle  age,  could  not  forbear 
a  smile  at  these  signs  of  passionate  youth  when 
the  very  blood  speaks.  Nor  could  he  help  but 
feel  again  the  thrill  that  had  made  his  own  form 
tingle  in  the  embrace  of  his  young  bride,  death- 
smitten,  almost  in  the  honeymoon,  and  his  smile 
changed  to  a  sigh. 


THE   PRIEST'S   GUEST  63 

The  Jesuit,  well  schooled,  saw  nothing  but  a 
sacred  chance  for  ministry,  and  with  skilful,  gentle 
hand  introduced  spoonfuls  of  the  posset  between 
the  closed  lips.  Will  was  in  abeyance,  and  with 
out  it  the  muscles  refused  their  office.  She  could 
not  swallow  it.  The  good  father  pressed  her 
nostrils  tight  between  his  thumb  and  finger. 
Instinctively  she  gasped,  and  a  few  drops  of  the 
liquid  trickled  down  her  throat,  rousing  her  to 
open  her  eyes ;  but  they  were  vacant  and  heavy 
with  fatigue.  She  feebly  swallowed  two  or  three 
doses  and  lapsed  again  into  slumber. 

"It  is  sufficient,"  said  Father  Gibault,  "she 
will  recover.  But  we  must  be  prepared  for  any 
course  nature  may  take  here,"  and  he  touched 
gently  the  broad  forehead,  pallid  under  its  bands 
of  roughened  hair. 

Manette  had  made  haste  to  prepare  the  little 
cabinet  back  of  her  sitting  room,  which  was 
kitchen  as  well,  for  the  priest's  guest.  She 
announced  all  in  readiness  and  St.  Vrain  and 
'Sieur  Vigo  bestowed  her  on  the  high  bed 
therein,  and,  for  the  time,  left  her  to  the  doubtful 
care  of  Manette,  who  was  rather  more  likely  to 
kill  her  with  much  kindness  than  to  cure  her,  so 
easily  flurried,  so  maladroit  was  the  bontee 
Tache. 


64  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

On  returning  to  the  priest's  apartment,  Vigo 
said  to  him  :  — 

"  I  would  like  a  few  moments  of  private 
speech  with  you,  father,  if  our  friend  here 
be  not  offended  by  this  implied  dismissal," 
and  he  turned  to  St.  Vrain  with  a  courteous 
smile. 

That  creature  of  impulse  started  mightily,  and 
exclaimed  :  — 

u  By  all  the  Saints  !     I'd  forgotten  it." 

"Forgotten  what?"  asked  Vigo.  "To  de 
liver  the  latest  news  from  France  ?  " 

He  questioned  in  so  knowing  a  tone  that  the 
priest  regarded  Vigo  steadfastly.  But  St.  Vrain 
seemed  to  know  nothing  more  than  that  he 
carried  despatches  which  must  be  delivered  to  the 
commander  at  Fort  Sackville,  as,  in  truth,  he  did 
not.  He  never  read  them,  even  when  they  were 
unsealed,  as  once  in  a  while  it  happened ;  for  it 
was  too  hard  to  decipher  the  crabbed  writing. 
He  took  no  personal  interest  in  the  war  then  rag 
ing  on  the  seaboard  between  the  colonists  and 
the  English.  He  was  merely  a  bearer  of  de 
spatches  for  the  English,  and  was  no  more  of  a 
partisan  than  was  a  packhorse. 

He  made  hasty  adieux,  telling  the  priest  that, 
with  his  permission,  he  would  come  again  on  the 


THE  PRIEST'S  GUEST  65 

morrow  to  consult  with  him  about  the  disposition 
of  the  stranger.  Calling  a  couple  of  "  panis  "  l  to 
carry  his  canoe  to  the  river,  he  hurried  to  the 
fort. 

1  Indian  slave. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN    THE    GARDEN 

No  sooner  had  St.  Vrain  departed  than  Father 
Gibault  observed  to  Vigo  :  — 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  talk  apart  in  the 
garden  ?  I  fear  not  the  whisperings  of  the  trees 
and  shrubs,  but  the  woman  — "  a  suggestive 
shrug  filled  out  the  pause  more  forcibly  than 
words.  Both  laughed  at  the  Adam-old .  slander 
implied,  and  walked  toward  the  garden.  It  lay 
behind  the  house,  and,  to  bar  out  intruders,  was 
surrounded  by  a  rough  fence  of  wattles  whose 
rusticity  in  summer  would  be  hidden  by  wreath 
ing  vines  of  wild  clematis  and  humble  pea-vine, 
natives  of  the  wilderness. 

This  garden  was  the  delight  of  old  Manette ; 
on  it  she  lavished  the  care  of  a  devotee.  Here, 
on  serene  summer  days,  Nature  held  revels.  All 
day  long  the  butterflies  pitched  gamesomely  over 
it;  the  birds  sang  their  sweetest  above  it; 
the  ante  built  their  tiny  palaces  in  its  paths ;  the 
moles  dug  tunnels  under  it  and  waylaid  the 

66 


IN  THE  GARDEN  67 

enemies  of  the  flowers  who  worked  mischief  in 
the  darkness.  Here  Aurora,  with  her  sprightly 
lover  Tithonus  in  her  train,  was  announced  at 
dawn  by  blasts  from  the  fragile  horns  of  the 
scarcely  untwisted  morning-glories  in  a  strain  so 
fine  as  to  be  inaudible  to  all  but  her  chosen 
votaries.  Their  office  done,  they  faded  into  noth 
ingness  before  the  painted  ladies,  who  fluttered 
on  their  long  green  stems  and  danced  with 
Zephyrus  before  her  till  the  fervor  of  the  Sun 
God  reduced  their  silken  robes  to  faded  rags 
before  the  noon  hour  came.  The  deep-toned 
bees,  high-voiced  humming-birds,  and  shriller 
pitch  of  tiny  insects  formed  a  constant  chorus. 
Violets  stared  like  surprised  children  at  their 
antics,  and  the  homely  gillyflowers  looked  on 
stiffly.  Tall  wrhite  lilies  genuflected  like  pious 
maidens  at  the  passage  of  these  garden  spirits. 
The  rose,  first  favorite  of  Mother  Nature, 
attended  sedately  from  dawn  through  all  the 
hours  to  burst  into  sweeter  fragrance  in  the  dim 
dewfall  before  she  dropped  to  earth  to  be  gath 
ered  up  by  old  Tache  and  put  to  homely  uses. 
Hollyhocks,  like  sturdy  soldiers,  stood  sentry  in 
a  retired  spot  all  day  long,  waiting  patiently  the 
coming  of  the  four-o'-clocks  to  tell  them  their 
hours  of  service  neared  the  end.  At  sunset  the 


68  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

sweet-breathed  primrose,  which  had  slept  the  hot 
hours  through,  opened  languid  eyes  at  the  touch 
of  the  cool  fingers  of  the  dew,  to  take  the  night 
vigil.  In  the  mists  of  the  morning  and  the  dews 
of  the  evening  the  clove  pinks  were  the  censer- 
swingers,  flinging  incense  so  sweet  that  the  gaudy 
butterflies  were  enthralled  into  settling  there 
longer  than  otherwhere ;  and  by  night  dull-hued 
moths  took  their  places.  The  great  brown  toad 
came  at  dusk  to  ward  off  destroyers  from  the 
spot,  and  fire-flies  lit  his  way.  Then  came  head 
long  bats.  And  the  whirring  ladybird  unrolled 
her  circling  tongue  to  suck  the  drops  of  melligo 
left  by  her  greedy  brothers,  the  bees  and  hum 
ming-birds. 

But  this  plot  was  not  altogether  devoted  to 
flowers.  The  cool  spring  breeze  brought  to  them 
the  scent  of  thyme,  parsley,  sage,  and  rue,  which 
furnished  Manette  her  cherished  kitchen  bouquet, 
and  gave  a  savory  tincture  to  the  "  pot-au-feu." 
The  greater  part  of  the  ground  was  laid  off  in 
squares  with  narrow  paths  between,  in  which 
were  planted  the  homely  vegetables,  that  would 
fill  her  dinner  pot,  all  in  good  time.  There  was 
also  a  square  planted  in  cherished  cantaloups,  from 
seeds  brought  from  France. 

The  sun  had  departed  for  another  day,  but  had 


IN  THE  GARDEN  69 

thrown  on  the  horizon  great,  diverging,  yellow 
shafts  of  light  which  fell  far  to  the  east  and 
brightened  the  low-lying  hills  back  of  the  com 
mon.  Above  sprang  the  tremendous  vault  so 
awesome  to  the  solitary  dwellers  in  the  forest  who 
see  no  more  of  it  at  a  look  than  a  patch  as  large 
as  a  man's  hand  through  the  latticed  limbs  of  the 
trees.  Little  stars  were  lingeringly  pointing  the 
blue,  and  the  lonely  moon,  now  waning,  shone 
with  serene  splendor.  Some  loitering  swallows 
were  uttering  their  rapid  "  tweet "  in  the  joy  of 
flight.  Bats,  made  more  awkward  by  their  envy 
of  the  fleet  swallow,  dashed  clumsily  about.  The 
ladybird's  soft  whirring  fell  pleasantly  on  the  ear, 
from  a  bed  of  early  violets  over  against  the  flaunt 
ing  scentless  tulips ;  for  it  was  the  last  of  May, 
and  not  many  flowers  were  in  bloom,  since  the 
earliest,  scentless  beauties  of  spring  had  departed. 
The  priest  and  'Sieur  Vigo  paced  the  narrow 
paths  slowly  till  they  reached  the  limit  of  the 
garden.  Both  paused  and  listened.  The  lapsing 
of  the  river,  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  of  a  packhorse 
afar  on  the  We-a  Trail,  the  sharp  barking  of  a  play 
ing  dog,  now  and  then  a  burst  of  song  from  the 
revellers  in  the  tavern,  where  the  villagers  and 
chance  coureurs  were  wont  to  congregate,  to  play 
at  piquet  with  some  favorite  companion,  or  at 


70  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

dicing,  or  at  billiards  (strangely  enough  this 
wilderness  hostel  possessed  two  tables  which  had 
been  brought  there  on  batteaux  by  the  river),  and 
they  drank  taffia,  home-brewed  beer,  and  native 
wine,  becoming  as  drunken  as  if  on  rarer  liquors. 

"Je  suis  jeune  et  belle, 
Je  veux  m' engage 
Un  amant  fidele." 

a  mellow  tenor,  of  great  carrying  power,  was  sing 
ing  with  spirit. 

"Ah,  St.  Vrain,  truly  he  is  expeditious. 
One  moment,  tears  dripping ;  the  next,  his  sides 
splitting  with  laughter,"  observed  Vigo. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  priest;  "but  the  lad  is  what 
he  is,  and  his  good  blood  tells,  and  at  no  time 
more  strongly  than  in  this,  his  last  adventure. 
He  has  the  heritage  of  a  noble  name.  You  know 
he  is  the  third  son  of  Le  Comte  de  Boisvert. 
His  elder  brother  is  a  favorite  at  the  court  of  the 
king." 

The  good  father  meant  not  the  English 
George,  —  whom  all  French  ignored  as  a  monarch, 
in  the  Illinois  country,  —  but  the  French  Louis. 

"  Strange  things  come  to  pass  in  this  New 
World,"  observed  Vigo. 

"Yes,  yes,"    assented   Father   Gibault;    "none 


IN  THE  GARDEN  71 

stranger  than,  that  a  scion  of  the  noble  house  of 
Boisvert,  whose  sons  took  so  glorious  a  part  at 
Crecy,  should  now  be  a  runner  of  errands  for  an 
English  despot,  his  hereditary  foe." 

He  took  from  the  breast  of  his  black  robe  a 
gold  snuff-box,  politely  handed  it  to  his  guest, 
then  he  took  a  pinch  himself,  as  a  slight  solace 
for  so  great  a  lapse  of  one  of  the  noblesse  from 
the  traditions  of  his  fathers.  Changing  the  pain 
ful  subject,  he  observed  : — 

"  Monsieur  Vigo,  you  may  have  weighty  news  to 

tell?" 

i 

"  News !  aye,  that  I  have.  News  that  will  set 
that  tyrant,  Hamilton,  by  the  ears.  As  you  know, 
I  am  but  come  from  Biloxi,  and  as  luck  would 
have  it,  while  there,  the  Antoinette  made  port, 
bringing  such  tidings  as  must  be  whispered  only 
on  the  wide  prairie,  lest  it  should  carry  too  far. 
//  is  rumored  that  France  will  soon  acknowledge 
the  independence  of  the  Americans,  and  a  fleet  will 
be  sent  to  their  aid.  Since  Burgoyne's  defeat  —  " 

The  priest  stopped  him  by  an  exclamation  of 
surprise. 

"  What !  Had  not  that  news  yet  reached  you  ? 
Yes,  'tis  true.  After  four  months'  hard  cam 
paigning  he  surrendered  to  the  Americans  so 
long  ago  as  last  October." 


72  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  It  augurs  much,"  said  the  priest.  "  You 
know,  since  the  revolt  of  the  seaboard  colonies, 
the  messengers  who  cross  the  mountains  with 
news  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  savages  are 
destroyed.  Perhaps  it  was  thus  we  failed  to 
hear  of  it.  This  espousal  of  the  rebels'  cause 
by  France  is  likely  to  make  great  change  in  the 
fortunes  of  the  Americans."  He  looked  about 
cautiously,  then,  leaning  toward  Vigo,  said  in  a 
vehement  whisper:  — 

"  I  pray  the  good  God  may  rid  us  of  these 
wicked  English  heretics." 

"  Pigs  —  all  of  them !  "  said  Vigo,  scornfully ; 
"but  they  have  come  to  their  sticking  at  last,  I 
think." 

"  But  these  American  rebels,  the  English  tell 
us,  they  are  more  savage  than  the  Indians ;  that 
they  spare  neither  young  nor  old ;  scalp  men, 
ravish  women,  and  brain  the  babe  at  the  breast." 

"  Lies !  All  lies !  "  cried  Vigo,  hotly.  "  I  know 
them  well,  these  hardy  pioneers.  They  love 
liberty  and  justice,  and  for  them  will  die.  There 
is  not  a  jot  of  truth  in  the  base  slander." 

"  I  judge  your  news  has  not  reached  there," 
observed  Father  Gibault,  pointing  with  one  long 
finger  toward  the  fort,  whose  flag  could  be  seen 
flapping  gently  —  a  black  blotch  against  the  sil 
vered  sky. 


IN  THE  GARDEN  73 

"  No ;  not  yet." 

"  I  think  it  wise  not  to  be  the  first  to  proclaim 
it,"  observed  the  priest. 

"  My  own  thought,  father,"  said  Vigo,  then 
he  continued  reluctantly ;  "  for  they  are  suspi 
cious  of  you  lately.  Let  it  be  a  secret  between 
us.  It  will  reach  them  in  due  time." 

Father  Gibault  smiled  slightly,  and  Vigo  re 
sumed,  "  Now  I  must  leave  you,  as  I  have  busi 
ness  elsewhere." 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  meet  me  here  again  in  the 
morning,  after  early  mass  ?  I  would  consult  you 
about  the  welfare  of  this  maid." 

Vigo  assented,  and  with  courteous  adieux  they 
parted  —  the  gentleman  of  Sardinia  and  the  gen 
tleman  of  the  wilderness :  the  one  an  opulent 
trader  and  one-time  soldier;  the  other  a  poor 
priest ;  both  men  of  kindest  heart,  finest  human 
ity,  and  straightest  walk  in  life. 


CHAPTER   XII 

IN    THE    PIANKESHAW    VILLAGE 

ALL  the  known  details  of  the  finding  of  the 
maiden  by  the  coureur  convinced  Vigo,  shrewd 
pioneer  and  Indian  trader  as  he  was,  that  some 
unknown  mischief  of  a  serious  nature  was  about 
to  culminate,  in  which  the  savages  were  vitally 
concerned.  The  girl's  comatose  condition  pointed 
convincingly  toward  two  things :  a  terrible  mental 
shock,  and  extreme  physical  exhaustion.  He 
had  roved  the  boundless  wilderness  through  and 
traversed  the  broad  prairies  from  end  to  end,  in 
the  Illinois  country,  voyaged  her  meandering 
streams  from  the  portage  at  Omee  to  the  fort 
at  the  falls  of  La  Belle  Riviere ;  from  the  mouth 
of  the  greater  Mississippi  to  the  great  northern 
lakes.  He  knew  the  sturdy  stock  of  the  Ameri 
can  pioneer,  and  he  was  convinced  that  no  chance 
meeting  with  the  savage  had  caused  the  horror 
under  whose  spell  the  girl  lay. 

He  strongly  suspected,  nay,  doubted  not,  that 
the  English,  defying  all  the  laws  of  conventional 

74 


IN  THE  PIANKESHAW  VILLAGE  75 

warfare  and  humanity,  had  secretly  sent  round 
the  "  bloody  belt."  Therefore,  when  he  discovered 
that  the  Miamis  and  their  implacable  foes,  the 
Puans,  were  marauding  in  the,  to  them,  forbidden 
territory  of  the  Illinois  tribes,  his  surmise  became 
a  conviction. 

The  Piankeshaws,  dwelling  peacefully  under 
the  very  shadow  of  the  fort,  may  not  have  been 
attainted,  as  they  were  avowedly  friendly  to  all 
whites,  and  thoroughly  under  the  influence  of  the 
French. 

To  determine  the  truth  or  falsity  of  his  conjec 
ture,  Vigo  set  out  very  early  next  morning  for  the 
village  of  the  great  chief,  "  Grand  Door,"  ostensi 
bly  to  bargain  for  peltry,  ginseng,  barks,  or  such 
small  wares  as  the  Indians  bartered  for  his  beads 
and  trinkets.  In  going  thither,  Vigo  passed  the 
fort,  and  found  it  in  that  orderly  confusion  which 
marks  the  movement  of  troops.  He  soon  learned 
that  the  commander,  Lieutenant-governor  Abbott, 
was  just  embarking  for  the  long  voyage  to  Detroit, 
recalled  on  important  secret  business.  A  fleet  of 
batteaux  lay  ready,  on  one  or  two  of  which  were 
mounted  two  small  pieces  of  ordnance.  English 
and  Indians  were  busy  lading  these  craft  with 
supplies  of  all  kinds.  Their  spirits  were  high. 
Coarse  jests  and  laughter,  though  subdued, 


76  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

sounded  above  the  clash  and  clatter  of  arms. 
The  soft  lap,  lap,  of  the  descending  water  made 
a  pleasant  accompaniment  to  the  chatter  of  the 
men ;  for  Abbott  was  the  sternest  of  martinets, 
and  forbade  all  unnecessary  bustle  and  noise. 

Monsieur  Vigo  watched  them  till  nearly  all 
were  away,  then  he  approached  the  governor  and 
asked  genially:  "  How  now,  Monsieur  Abbott. 
Are  you  off  for  a  pleasure  trip  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  growled  Abbott,  "  a  pleasure  trip  that  is 
likely  to  cost  some  one  dear." 

"  Might  a  discreet  man  ask  how  far  your  Excel 
lency  is  journeying  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  the  seat  of  the  territorial  government,  — 
Detroit." 

"  Ah  !  a  goodly  journey.  I  wish  you  bon  voy 
age,  monsieur,"  and  Vigo  lifted  his  hat  politely, 
as  the  governor  stepped  aboard  and  the  com 
mand  "  forward  "  was  given.  A  gun  in  the  fort 
boomed.  They  were  off,  and  only  a  handful  of 
English  soldiers  and  Indians,  under  the  command 
of  a  young  lieutenant,  were  left  to  garrison  Sack- 
ville,  so  great  was  their  reliance  on  the  neutral 
ity  of  the  French  and  their  confidence  in  their 
savage  allies. 

Vigo  watched  the  fleet  fall  into  an  orderly  line, 
and  saw  the  British  ensign  set  afloat  on  the  gov- 


IN  THE   PIANKESHAW  VILLAGE  77 

ernor's  batteau.  He  gazed  till  all  disappeared 
behind  the  great  bend. 

"  The  coureur's  despatches  must  have  been 
important,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  'Tis  likely  our 
secret's  out."  He  boarded  his  own  craft,  and  a 
few  skilful  strokes  sent  it  like  a  low-flying  bird 
across  the  broad,  murky  channel  to  the  western 
shore,  above  which  lay  the  Piankeshaw  village. 
It  was  on  a  flat  plain  which  was  reached  by  a 
shallow  bank,  so  low  as  to  furnish  little  protection 
from  the  floods  which  poured  down  the  channel 
in  the  spring,  not  infrequently  overflowing  the 
prairie  five  miles  westward.  The  river  bank  was 
set  thick  with  a  natural  grove  of  willows  that 
waved  welcoming  arms  to  the  lightest  breeze,  or, 
in  calm,  fell  into  melancholy  drooping.  A  stretch 
of  native  grass,  darkly  green  as  an  overclouded 
sea,  made  a  fine,  thick  sward  between  it  and  the 
village.  Upon  this  level,  set  sparsely,  were  oak, 
sycamore,  and  wild  cherry  trees. 

In  common  with  the  French  and  the  Spanish, 
in  whose  army  he  had  served,  Vigo  hated  the 
English.  More  than  all,  he  hated  the  name  of 
Hamilton,  the  "  Hair-buyer  General,"  who  from 
far  Detroit  ordered  the  destruction  of  the  frontiers 
man,  who  gave  no  quarter,  who  felt  no  pity,  who 
paid  for  the  scalps  of  men,  women,  and  children, 


78  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

that  the  Indians  fell  upon  stealthily  and  tortured 
in  every  horrible  way  that  they  could  invent.  So 
cold,  so  cruel,  so  implacable  was  he,  that  in  time 
he  became  a  horror  to  the  very  savage. 

The  French  reduced  to  timid  subjection,  nomi 
nally  neutral,  hated,  and  feared,  but  could  take  no 
step  against  Hamilton  beyond  giving  a  boundless 
hospitality  and  tender  ministry  to  any  chance  sur 
vivor.  Secretly  they  adopted  the  pioneer's  name 
for  him,  and  called  him  the  Hair-buyer  General. 

Pondering  these  things  Vigo  reached  the  outer 
lodges.  The  village  was  a  goodly  collection  of 
bark  huts,  thatched  with  grass,  with  now  and  then 
a  wigwam  of  skins.  The  most  pretentious  was 
the  sachem's,  which  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
encampment.  It  was  fairly  neat  and  orderly ;  for 
association  with  the  whites,  such  as  this  converted 
tribe  enjoyed,  could  not  but  modify  their  savage 
habits,  and  they  were  perhaps  the  most  civilized 
of  all  the  tribes  in  the  Illinois  country,  where  the 
French  wielded  so  kindly  an  influence. 

The  dying  breakfast  fires  were  now  tiny  hil 
locks  of  pale  ashes.  The  women  were  busy  at 
various  menial  tasks,  while  the  men  lounged  in 
idleness,  smoking.  As  Vigo  strolled  leisurely 
through  these  narrow  lanes,  he  nodded  sedately 
to  the  elderly  men,  and  once  or  twice  he  took  a 


IN  THE   PIANKESHAW   VILLAGE  79 

whiff  from  a  pipe  gravely  offered  him.  But  he 
asked  no  questions;  for  to  have  done  so  from  the 
lesser  warriors  would  have  been  detrimental  to 
the  business  in  hand,  so  jealous  of  authority  'was 
the  great  chief.  Vigo  had  traded  with  the  tribe 
for  years,  indeed,  since  the  retirement  of  the  last 
commandant  at  Fort  St.  Vincent,  now  Sackville. 
His  tact,  bonhomie,  fairness,  caused  him  to  be 
trusted  and  respected  by  all. 

As  he  neared  the  central  lodge,  where  dwelt 
"  Tobacco's  Son,"  otherwise  the  "  Grand  Door," 
he  espied  in  the  distance  a  slender  man,  wrapped 
in  a  blanket,  making  his  way  with  evident  secrecy 
to  some  wigwam.  His  quick  suspicions  were 
aroused,  and  he  stepped  aside  that  he  might  not 
be  seen  by  him.  The  young  man  gave  a  stealthy 
look  around  and  disappeared  into  the  lodge  of 
Mous-wah,  the  old  medicine-man,  —  a  creature  as 
withered  as  a  mummy,  and  as  soulless,  —  but  not 
before  Vigo  recognized  him  as  the  priest's  pupil. 

"  Ah,  the  wild  blood  calls  to  its  own,"  mused 
Vigo.  "  The  donne,  what  business  has  he  with 
the  medicine-man?  I  much  mistrust  that  youth 
for  something  of  a  hypocrite,  if  nothing  worse." 

The  lodge  of  Tobacco's  Son  was  larger  than 
those  of  the  lesser  warriors.  Before  the  entrance 
hung  a  gaudy  blanket  which  shut  out  curious 


80  ON    THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

eyes.  Within,  the  chief  reclined  at  ease  on  the 
silky  pelt  of  a  half-grown  buffalo  calf,  smoking 
beatifically  a  cunningly  carven  pipe  of  the  sacred 
pipe-stone.  When  he  detected  strange  footsteps 
approaching,  which  paused  at  his  threshold,  he 
rose  to  the  full  height  of  his  magnificent  stature, 
and  called  to  the  newcomer  to  enter,  —  an  invita 
tion  at  once  accepted  by  Vigo,  —  and  he  again 
subsided  to  his  couch. 

The  Grand  Door  was  a  handsome  savage  in 
the  prime  of  young  manhood.  His  succession  to 
his  father,  Chief  Tobacco,  was  recent,  therefore 
he  was  the  more  exacting  of  every  observance 
due  his  station.  His  features  were  finely  aquiline, 
without  excessive  prominence  of  cheek-bone. 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  bright  with  intelligence. 
His  skin  was  clear,  tinted,  and  fine,  without  a 
taint  of  alien  blood.  His  straight  black  hair 
hung  in  parting  locks  about  his  shoulders,  with 
his  insignia  of  rank,  a  single  eagle  feather,  thrust 
through  it  on  the  crown ;  for  he  wore  no  scalp- 
lock.  His  mouth  closed  firmly;  but  his  thin  lips 
were  just  now  drawing  the  smoke  through  the 
long,  feather-trimmed  reed  stem  of  his  calumet. 
As  June  was  young,  the  early  mornings  were 
chilly  from  the  mists  of  the  river,  and  he  wore  a 
shirt  of  velvety  doeskin  richly  embroidered  with 


IN  THE   PIANKESHAW   VILLAGE  8 1 

porcupine  quills  and  beads.  His  leggings  were 
of  stouter  buckskin,  elaborately  fringed  and 
tagged  with  bright  feathers.  His  shapely,  slender 
feet  were  thrust  into  moccasins  crusted  with  tiny 
shells  and  gaudy  beads.  He  was  entirely  un 
armed,  for  he  and  his  tribe  lived  in  almost 
brotherly  amity  with  the  French  villagers,  and 
had  been  converted  to  the  Holy  Church  by 
Father  Gibault  himself.  Yet  he  was  wise  enough 
to  know  that  the  English  were  in  power,  and  to 
maintain  a  strict  neutrality.  His  love  and  fealty 
were  given  to  the  French ;  his  awe  and  obedi 
ence,  to  the  English. 

He  received  Vigo  with  every  sign  of  pleasure. 
He  gave  him  his  hand,  and  called  to  a  squaw, 
"  Fetch  a  calumet  for  the  white  brother  !  " 

Vigo  was  perfect  master  of  the  Shewanee  lan 
guage,  a  dialect  of  which  the  Piankeshaws  spoke, 
and  he  entered  into  conversation  with  him  after 
a  draw  or  two  of  the  pipe,  while  standing  in  the 
presence  of  the  now  half-reclining  chief. 

"  Are  the  ears  of  Tobacco's  Son,  the  noblest  of 
all  sons  of  the  red-men,  into  whose  hands  the 
Great  Father  has  committed  the  watch  and  ward 
of  the  Great  Door  of  the  Ouibache,  open  to  the 
speech  of  the  white  brother  ?  " 

The  Indian  regarded  him  gravely  and   atten- 


82  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

lively  an  instant,  then  nodded  acquiescently ;  but 
when  Vigo  would  have  proceeded,  he  waved  his 
fine,  slight  hand  to  command  silence.  Again 
calling  the  squaw,  he  bade  her  — "  Send  to  me 
Ah-mah-nac-o." 

She  departed  on  the  errand,  but  soon  returned 
and  said :  — 

"  The  '  Yellow  Wolf '  left  the  village  before  the 
morning  star  had  risen,  to  hunt  the  great  buffalo, 
on  the  Drowned  Lands." 

The  chiefs  forehead  drew  into  a  wrinkle 
between  the  eyes — the  sole  expression  of  his  dis 
pleasure. 

"  See  you,  then,  Men-quat-we,  that  none  lingers 
near,  and  keep  you  to  the  windward  side." 

After  the  squaw  had  withdrawn  he  signified  to 
Vigo  to  proceed,  and  motioned  him  to  a  seat  at 
his  side  on  the  mat  of  rushes. 

"  Last  night,  O  noble  red  brother,  a  coureur 
brought  to  Father  Gibault  a  beautiful  white  maiden, 
whom  he  had  found  within  calling  distance  of 
the  We-a  Trail.  You  know,  O  favorite  son  of  the 
Great  Spirit,  that  the  American  woman  does  not 
show  fear  on  the  approach  of  white  men,  nor  in 
the  presence  of  the  friendly  Piankeshaw.  This 
fairest  of  maidens,  white  as  winter  snows  on  the 
prairies,  with  the  gold  of  sun-flashes  in  April 


IN  THE  PIANKESHAW  VILLAGE  83 

showers  in  her  hair,  was  bereft  of  all  her  senses, 
—  she  scarce  drew  breath;  her  very  soul  had 
seemingly  flown  to  its  most  sacred  retreat  nighest 
the  Great  Manitou.  It  was  from  terror,  horrid 
fear,  O  great  Tobacco's  Son,  that  she  had  come 
to  this.  We  have  dwelt  in  peace  these  many 
years.  The  northern  tribes  were  forbidden  the 
hunting  in  the  Illinois  country.  What  does 
it  mean,  wisest  of  red-men,  thou  only  canst  tell 
thy  trusting,  dull  white  brother." 

The  chief  was  stolidly  silent  for  a  time.  Turn 
ing  his  head  from  side  to  side,  like  a  listening 
buck,  then  said  in  a  tone  as  quiet  as  the  down 
ward  fall  of  an  owl's  feather  :  — 

"  It  means  the  Great  Father  from  over  the  sea 
has  sent  around  the  bloody  belt." 

"  I  thought  as  much.  Are  you  certain  of 
this?  "  said  Vigo,  sharply,  forgetting  Indian  amen 
ities. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Grand  Door ;  "  that  renegade, 
Ah-mah-nac-o,  came  to  my  lodge  last  night  when 
the  clock  stars  told  midnight,  and  warned  me  it 
was  true.  Indeed,  he  bore  two  belts,  which  he  had 
from  the  Great  Father's  servant  at  Detroit,  —  one 
the  bloody  belt  of  war;  the  other  the  white  belt 
of  peace."  He  paused  with  face  as  impassive  as 
the  sandstone  cliffs  below  the  village. 


84  ON    THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

Vigo  gazed  at  him  with  nervously  twitching 
lips,  his  deep-set  black  eyes  eagerly  questioning 
that  blank,  stony  visage,  as  if  he  would  read  there, 
graven  in  minutest  characters,  his  choice ;  but  the 
sachem's  tongue  was  silent. 

Instead  of  speaking,  the  chief  took  from  a 
leather  pouch  at  hand  a  long  belt  woven  of 
white  shells  and  porcupine  quills  unstained  by 
the  fatal  red. 

Vigo  seized  his  hand. 

"  O  Tobacco's  Son,  thou  art  indeed  a  noble 
friend ;  a  sachem  who  keeps  his  word  to  his 
white  brother;  thou  art  indeed  a  Christian." 
Making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he  raised  his  eyes 
heavenward.  "  May  the  true  God  keep  you  un 
tainted,  and  the  Saints  invisible  attend  that  you 
fall  not.  It  means  border  war,  then  ?  The 
English,  not  satisfied  by  war  with  the  colonies, 
would  bring  it  to  the  very  frontier,  and  exter 
minate  by  massacre  the  long-suffering,  valiant 
pioneer  in  the  Great  Wilderness  itself.  Ah, 
God,  how  cruel  is  man  ! " 

Both  arose  to  their  feet,  and  Vigo  took  from 
the  pocket  of  his  leather  surtout  a  small  package 
and  pressed  it  into  the  hand  of  the  chief  —  a 
packet  of  the  finest  tobacco  to  be  had  in  New 
Orleans,  and  a  small  flask  of  the  best  French 


IN  THE   PIANKESHAW  VILLAGE  8$ 

brandy,  so  rare  there  as  to  be  invaluable.  For 
the  first  time  the  fixed  visage  of  the  chief  re 
laxed  into  something  like  a  smile  as  he  took 
these,  rarest  and  choicest  of  treasures  and 
smelled  at  them  with  loud  sniffing. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE    WARDSHIP 

WHEN  'Sieur  Vigo  left  the  Indian  village,  he 
went  at  once  to  keep  the  appointment,  made 
overnight,  with  Father  Gibault.  He  found  him 
pacing  the  garden  paths  with  no  sign  of  aught 
in  his  manner  but  gentle  pleasure  in  his  sur 
roundings. 

Father  Gibault  was  scarcely  middle-aged ;  but 
the  privations,  dangers,  and  sicknesses  of  frontier 
life,  which  had  fallen  abundantly  to  his  lot  during 
the  last  decade,  had  worn  him  so  that  he  ap 
peared  well  on  in  life,  as  he  walked  with  eyes 
downcast  and  hands  clasped  behind  him  in 
serene  meditation.  But  when  those  eyes  were 
lifted,  what  a  change !  It  was  like  flooding  a 
dark  house  at  black  midnight  with  myriad  wax- 
lights  so  brilliant  a  flame  illumined  them ;  his 
sweet,  emaciated  visage  showed  young  vigor, 
passionate  enthusiasm,  fervent  love,  lit  by  their 
fire.  At  times  a  smile  —  charming  as  a  child's 
morning  smile  to  its  mother  —  softened  his  lips 

86 


THE  WARDSHIP  87 

and  attested  to  the  beneficence  of  his  heart  tow 
ard  all  creatures.  He  was  the  sympathetic 
brother  rather  than  the  dominant  priest  in  this 
wilderness  of  savages  and  reckless  whites,  —  the 
harbinger  proclaiming  the  coming  of  peace  and 
humaneness.  His  figure  was  tall  and  meagre, 
which  leanness  his  black  soutane  emphasized. 
His  face  was  long  and  narrow,  with  a  slightly 
prominent  chin ;  a  gentle  mouth  which  closed 
firmly  but  without  that  severity  at  the  line  of 
junction  so  habitual  to  one  of  his  calling.  His 
eyes  were  set  in  deep  hollows  under  a  brow  that 
was  high  and  narrow ;  hollows  were  in  his  cheeks 
as  well,  and  at  his  temples.  His  nose  was  long, 
delicately  thin  and  curved.  His  small  head  was 
fringed  with  sparse  black  hair  in  the  midst  of 
which  the  tonsure  glistened  like  ivory,  the  tint 
of  his  skin.  While  his  manner  entirely  lacked 
Gallic  vivacity,  it  had  but  a  hint  of  that  aloofness 
from  his  kind  bred  by  his  calling.  Force  he 
never  used ;  finesse  of  the  finest,  gentleness  of 
the  blandest  quality  were  the  means  he  employed 
to  win  men.  All  respected,  loved,  and  appealed 
to  him  for  help  and  guidance,  which  he  never 
withheld  from  believer  or  heretic. 

As  Vigo  approached  down  the  allee  between 
the  beds,  laid  out  in  the  fashion  of  France,  square 


88  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

and  trim,  Father  Gibault  paused  until  he  joined 
him,  and  together  they  walked  to  the  bottom  of 
the  garden,  where  a  seat  encircling  a  sycamore,  a 
stray  from  the  bottom-glades,  furnished  them  a 
resting-place. 

When  they  were  seated,  'Sieur  Vigo  waited 
respectfully  for  Father  Gibault  to  speak.  A  true 
lover  of  Nature  sits  silent  while  she  unfolds  her 
old,  but  ever  new,  mysteries,  —  the  opening  flower, 
the  evaporating  dew,  the  rousing  of  her  humble 
creatures  ;  and  the  priest  —  a  lover  solely  hers  — 
sat  speechless,  engrossed  with  the  modest  beauty 
of  the  spot.  After  a  few  moments'  contemplation, 
he  roused  and  said :  — 

"  Monsieur  Vigo,  I  would  consult  with  you 
about  the  young  maid  who  was  brought  to  us 
last  night,  so  evidently  God-given.  I  know  you 
to  be  a  man  of  honor  and  good  heart,  and  I 
would  have  you  advise  with  me." 

"  You  know,  father,  it  was  wholly  by  accident 
that  I  met  St.  Vrain  at  the  landing,  and  I  really 
had  no  part  in  the  matter  save  to  help  carry  the 
girl  to  your  door.  Is  not  the  coureur  the  man 
who  rightfully  should  be  consulted  ?  " 

"  A  coureur,  monsieur,  consulted  on  such  a 
delicate  question  !  No,  no  !  " 

"  But  St.  Vrain  can  be  trusted  to  act  honorably 


THE  WARDSHIP  89 

in  such  a  case,  I  think,  mon  pere,  wild,  reckless 
fellow  as  he  is  !  " 

"  It  might  *  be  well  to  do  him  this  act  of 
courtesy,  —  consult  him,  —  and  let  him  feel  re 
sponsibility  in  so  great  a  matter,"  answered  the 
priest,  reflectively. 

"  How  is  the  maid  this  morning?"  asked  Vigo. 

"  She  has  never  roused  the  whole  night  through, 
so  Manette  informs  me." 

"  I  have  seen  strong  men  affected  similarly, 
who,  after  complete  rest,  were  fully  restored." 

"  True !  but  with  this  sensitive  organism  be 
neath,"  said  the  priest,  tapping  his  forehead,  "  I 
fear  all  is  not  right,  —  a  something  terror  caused, 
not  mere  fatigue." 

"  You  are  only  too  right  in  your  conjecture  ;  the 
cursed  English  have  sent  round  the  bloody  belt. 
Even  to  the  village  over  yonder!  Evidently 
St.  Vrain's  despatches,  which  he  delivered  last 
night,  bore  on  that  devilish  business.  I  doubt  it 
not !  As  I  came  up  the  Ouibache  I  heard  that 
the  Miamis  and  Puans  had  been  harrying  the 
settlers  between  here  and  the  Great  Falls ! " 

"  Alas !  alas  !  "  groaned  the  priest,  "  that  means 
bloody  massacre !  I  may  be  able  to  restrain  my 
own  tribes,  but  these  outer  barbarians,  —  what 
can  I  do  with  them  ?  The  emissary  must  have 


QO  ON  THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

arrived  very  recently,  for  I  have  been  here  two 
days  myself,  and  have  heard  nothing  of  it." 

"  I  strongly  suspect  the  emissary  to  be  that 
renegade  Ah-mah-nac-o,  from  a  hint  dropped  un 
intentionally  by  the  Grand  Door  himself." 

"  I  had  hoped  to  set  out  for  Kaskaskia  to-day, 
but  this  matter  must  be  looked  into.  I  must  speak 
to  Tobacco's  Son.  Then,  too,  I  must  see  this 
young  maid  placed  in  a  suitable  home,  which  I 
have  reason  to  hope  will  be  thrown  open  to 
her,  the  first  victim  of  this  horrible  brutality,  I 
doubt  not.  Do  you  know  what  answer  the  chief 
made  to  the  British  agent  ?  " 

"  He  chose  the  white  belt,"  said  Vigo,  impres 
sively. 

"  Blessed  be  God  !  "  cried  the  priest,  fervently. 

Vigo  related  to  him  the  particulars  of  his  morn 
ing  visit  to  the  village. 

"  It  was  a  sad  day  —  that  when  King  Louis  re 
signed  the  Illinois  country,  the  rightful  domain  of 
the  French,  to  their  hereditary  foes,  the  British," 
said  Vigo,  bitterly. 

"  True,  my  son.  But  that  can  never  be  altered. 
It  can  only  be  borne  with  patience,"  Father 
Gibault  forbearingly  replied. 

"  But,  father,  may  not  '  patience '  be  carried 
too  far?" 


THE   WARDSHIP  91 

"  There  speaks  the  soldier.  Never,  my  son.  It 
was  by  patience  that  the  sons  of  Loyola  pushed 
through  the  pathless  forests,  from  one  end  of  the 
Great  Wilderness  to  the  other,  and  bore  the  cross 
to  the  savage.  It  is  through  perfect  patience  we 
look  for  perfect  reward." 

Vigo  said  no  more,  but  abruptly  changed  the 
subject  to  the  girl  again. 

"  You  said,  father,  that  you  had  been  planning 
for  the  girl  —  what  have  you  fixed  upon  ?  " 

"  I  arranged  with  Colonel  Dubois  and  his  wife, 
last  night,  to  take  her  into  their  family.  The  pres 
ence  of  other  young  people,  like  his  three  demoi 
selles,  will  hearten  her,  when  she  comes  to  herself, 
more  than  could  Manette.  Moreover,  from  her 
appearance,  I  think  the  maid  one  who  would  need 
gentler  nurture,  more  refined  associates,  than  the 
good  Tache  could  furnish  her.  Does  it  meet 
your  approval  ? " 

"  A  most  happy  solution  of  the  problem,  father. 
None  but  you  could  so  felicitously  have  done  it," 
said  Vigo,  heartily.  "  When  will  you  place  her 
in  their  care  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  best  to  remove  her  before  she  comes 
to  herself,  and  am  even  now  awaiting  the  colonel's 
caleche." 

As   he    spoke,    the    sound   of    crunching    and 


92  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

squeaking  was  heard.  The  expected  vehicle 
drew  up  in  front  of  Manette's  house,  which 
abutted  the  roadway,  with  only  a  narrow  foot-path 
between  it  and  the  wagon  track. 

Father  Gibault  and  'Sieur  Vigo  hastily  left  the 
garden,  to  greet  the  colonel,  who  had  accom 
panied  the  conveyance  himself,  attended  by  two 
Panis,  one  of  whom  led  the  fiery  Spanish  horse 
that  restively  tossed  its  head  and  pawed  with  im 
patient  feet,  sending  abroad  showers  of  sandy 
loam.  The  caleche  was  a  two-wheeled  affair,  the 
wheels  being  mere  disks  cut  from  a  log ;  the  bed 
was  a  raised  platform  with  side-boards  kept  in 
place  by  wooden  pins ;  but  it  was  made  comforta 
ble  for  the  girl's  removal  by  a  lining  of  buffalo 
pelts  and  pillows. 

While  they  were  examining  these  arrangements, 
St.  Vrain  hurriedly  appeared.  He  greeted  all  re 
spectfully,  but  without  a  trace  of  servility;  he 
seemed  to  recognize  in  them  only  the  superiority 
of  years.  He  looked  fresh  and  buoyant,  notwith 
standing  he  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  at  the  tavern,  dicing,  playing  billiards,  sing 
ing  songs  none  too  delicate,  and  drinking  taffia  in 
astonishing  quantities.  As  he  said,  it  took  a  good 
deal  to  lay  him  on  the  carpet. 

"  Good  day,  gentlemen,  all !  "  he  cried  with  loud 


THE  WARDSHIP  93 

cheerfulness ;  for  a  coureur  either  bawled  like  a 
buffalo-bull  or  whispered  like  the  pines.  "  How 
do  you  find  yourself,  mon  pere  ?  and  the  poor 
little  one,  how  goes  it  with  her  ? " 

"  With  me  it  goes  well,"  answered  the  priest 
gently.  "  But  alas,  for  the  poor  maid  !  There  is 
no  change  for  the  better.  Your  coming  now, 
Hilaire,  is  a  happy  chance.  Monsieur  Dubois 
and  I  sought  to  speak  with  you  last  night,  but  my 
messenger  could  not  find  you." 

St.  Vrain  had  the  grace  to  look  ashamed,  but 
he  made  no  explanation ;  he  only  said :  "  Well, 
father,  I  am  here  now !  What  may  it  be  that  you 
would  consult  me  about  ?  " 

"  As  it  was  altogether  owing  to  your  courage 
and  good  heart  that  the  maid  was  brought  here, 
and  her  life  saved,  it  is  only  right  that  you  should 
be  consulted  as  to  her  future,  and  share  our  ward 
ship.  Colonel  Dubois  as  commandant  of  the 
village  has  the  right  legally;  I  have  it  by  the 
authority  of  the  Holy  Church ;  you,  by  the  right 
of  the  finder." 

The  bold  ranger  looked  almost  frightened,  and 
stammered  hastily :  — 

"I  a  guardian  to  a  young  girl!  Monsieur,  it 
cannot  be  !  I  am  not  fit  —  I  mean  —  I  know 
nothing  about  girls !  "  with  a  gesture  of  repudia- 


94  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

tion,  and  an  expression  of  ludicrous  dread  of  the 
responsibility.  He  cried  forcibly :  "  I  leave  it  all 
to  you,  gentlemen.  I  resign  all  authority  on  the 
spot !  "  stamping  energetically,  as  if  to  mark  it. 

His  hearers  could  hardly  restrain  a  smile  at  his 
panic.  In  truth  wardship  was  rather  an  inappro 
priate  office  to  his  years,  for  he  was  not  above 
six  and  twenty. 

"  As  you  will !  "  said  Father  Gibault  "  Colonel 
Dubois  and  I  will  assume  entire  charge  of  the 
maid,  since  both  you  and  'Sieur  Vigo  decline. 
But  you  may  be  of  assistance  now  in  removing 
her  to  the  colonel's  house." 

The  men  followed  the  priest  into  the  house, 
and  soon  came  out  again  carrying  Ferriby  in  a 
gaudy  patchwork  quilt,  a  man  at  each  corner. 
Madame  Tache  followed,  gabbling  incessantly,  and 
when  the  cart  started  she  shaded  her  eyes  with 
one  hand,  a  tear  overflowing  from  each,  and  said, 
looking  after  it  as  it  moved  off  slowly,  — 

"  But  it  was  poor  Tache  who  took  her  in  first, 
and  she  will  never  know  !  " 

As  St.  Vrain  and  Vigo  walked  away  to  the 
tavern,  the  latter  said  to  the  coureur :  "  You  had 
words  with  the  priest's  pupil  last  night  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he's  such  easy  game !     So  hot  a  fool !  " 


THE   WARDSHIP  95 

Vigo  smiled,  and  thought  the  truth  were  the 
other  way,  but  he  only  remarked  :  — 

"  I  warn  you  !  I  saw  him  over  in  the  village 
at  daybreak  this  morning,  entering  the  lodge  of 
Nah-moust,  the  medicine-man.  Then,  too,  I  saw 
him  last  night  with  Ah-mah-nac-o.  Beware,  thou, 
of  both ! " 

"One  at  a  time  I  fear  them  not!  Together, 
the  devil  himself  might  blench,  but "  —  vauntingly, 
"not  the  coureur  St.  Vrain!"  and  he  laughed 
loudly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   NEW   HOME 

THE  fort  and  little  church  occupied  the  centre 
of  the  village  of  one  street,  which  straggled  along 
the  water  front  for  perhaps  a  mile;  there  were 
also  several  cross  lanes.  Colonel  Dubois's  house 
was  situated  a  quarter  of  a  mile  north  of  the 
fort,  far  from  the  lowlands  to  the  south.  It  stood 
well  back  from  the  river,  yet  faced  the  great 
waterway.  The  grounds  to  the  rear  ran  back  to 
the  commons,  a  great  glebe  of  many  hundred 
acres,  enclosed  with  palings  of  split  saplings  to 
the  height  of  ten  feet,  over  which  neither  beast  nor 
savage  might  easily  climb.  It  was  the  common 
pasture  ground  for  the  entire  populace,  who  shut 
Zf  their  cattle  and  left  their  fields  open. 

The  house  itself  was  the  most  pretentious  in 
the  village,  two  full  stories  in  height,  built  of  the 
native  rough  stone,  with  a  clapboard  roof,  from 
which  peeped  two  dormer  windows  toward  the 
west,  and  two  toward  the  east,  lighting  the  garret. 
It  had  been  completed  about  five  years,  and  it 

96 


THE  NEW   HOME  97 

had  taken  as  many  to  get  together  the  building 
materials,  brought  as  they  were  by  batteaux  from 
New  Orleans. 

The  Dubois  family  had  taken  up  residence  at 
O  Poste  when  the  present  head  of  the  house  was 
a  youth  of  twenty.  His  father  Toussaint  Dubois, 
a  man  of  gentle  birth  and  breeding,  was  comman 
dant  of  Post  St.  Vincent  under  the  French  king 
Louis.  Dubois  the  elder,  mortified  at  the  British 
acquisition  of  the  territory,  died  of  a  stroke. 
Fran9ois,  the  son,  remained  at  the  Post  where 
they  had  acquired  much  land  and  little  money, 
and  took  up  the  headship  of  the  family.  He 
quickly  married  off  his  three  sisters;  for  maids 
were  scarce  and  men  plentiful.  This  duty  done, 
he  himself  looked  about  for  a  wife,  and  wedded 
Rosalie  Bouche,  the  daughter  of  the  richest  trader 
at  Kaskaskia.  The  Bouches  were  once  clog- 
wearing  peasants  in  Normandy,  while  the  Dubois 
were  of  the  noblesse.  But  what  matter  in  a  new 
country  when  the  "  dot  "  is  large  ?  The  Bouches 
had  joined  the  exodus  to  New  France  and  had 
followed  the  trail  of  the  French  explorers  farther 
south  till  they  had  stranded  in  the  Illinois 
country.  The  Dubois  had  been  sent  to  govern 
them.  Destiny  had  united  them,  bourgeois  and 
noblesse,  and  filled  the  scanty  purse  of  the  latter, 


98  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

as  often  happens.  Just  how  wandering  human 
atomies  take  root  after  floating  hither  and  yon, 
idly  as  thistle-down,  guided  only  by  a  vagrant 
breeze,  then  in  a  moment  of  stagnant  wind  drop 
to  become  rooted  in  the  most  unlikely  place 
before  they  are  aware,  no  one  knows. 

Such  was  the  village  of  O  Poste  in  1778,  —  a 
rooting  of  roving  humanity;  a  community  num 
bering  nearly  six  hundred  souls,  made  up  of  waifs 
and  strays  from  the  great  world ;  French  traders, 
voyageurs,  trappers,  Indian  converts,  panis  (or 
captured  Indian  slaves),  a  few  blacks,  and  a  hand 
ful  of  American  pioneers  from  the  Virginia  and 
Kentucky  countries  —  more  restless  than  the 
wolves  of  the  forest! 

In  the  course  of  half  a  century  the  village 
had  grown  from  a  settlement  of  bark  lodges  and 
tepees  to  a  town  of  comfortable  log-cabins  and 
a  few  pretentious  stone  houses.  On  the  occu 
pancy  of  the  British  the  name  of  the  fort  had  been 
changed  from  St.  Vincent  to  Sackville.  It  had 
been  enlarged,  its  palisades  strengthened,  and 
each  of  its  four  blockhouses  provided  with 
sufficient  armament  for  the  time. 

Colonel  Dubois's  house  was  the  mansion  of 
the  village.  It  was  of  stone,  and  a  little  por 
tico  shaded  the  front  door,  over  which  vines 


THE  NEW    HOME  99 

from  the  forest  clambered,  making  it  a  veritable 
bower. 

A  large  hall,  with  a  door  at  either  end  opening 
to  the  outer  world,  ran  through  the  centre  of  the 
edifice.  A  huge  fireplace  was  on  one  side  and 
the  stairway  ascended  the  other.  At  either  hand 
were  two  large  apartments ;  the  grande  cham- 
bre,  or  parlor ;  behind  it  a  cabinet,  or  guest- 
chamber.  Opposite  these  were  a  general  sitting 
room  and  the  salle  a  manger,  or  dining  room. 
The  upper  floor  was  similarly  divided  into  four 
sleeping  apartments. 

Two  years  before  Colonel  Dubois  had  taken 
his  family  on  a  grand  voyage  to  New  Orleans, 
when  the  fleet  of  batteaux  had  carried  down  a 
cargo  of  deer-hides,  peltries,  bear  oil,  roots,  and 
barks  to  trade  for  domestic  wares.  Then  for  the 
first  time  the  young  demoiselles  —  even  madame 
herself  —  had  indulged  in  the  ineffable  bliss  of 
shopping,  and  had  brought  home  many  elegant 
articles  of  household  furnishing  conveyed  in  the 
ships  from  France,  so  that  the  interior  of  the 
mansion  was  fine  to  behold. 

The  fireplace  in  the  hall  was  now  filled  with 
feathery  stalks  of  asparagus.  Over  the  mantel- 
tree  hung  an  immense  pair  of  buck's  antlers, — 
showing  twenty  prongs,  —  on  which  rested  sundry 


100  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

fire-arms  and  the  elegantly  jewel-hilted  sword 
of  the  late  commandant.  Rush  mats,  woven  by 
the  Indians,  were  scattered  here  and  there,  as 
well  as  in  all  the  rooms,  in  place  of  carpets. 

In  the  dining  room  was  a  cabinet  with  glass 
doors,  behind  which  madame  disported  her  best 
porcelain  cups  and  saucers  imported  from  France. 
On  a  spindle-legged  mahogany  buffet  sundry 
silver  posset-cups  and  hand-servers  were  conspicu 
ously  placed.  The  pewter  ware,  —  for  everyday 
use,  —  scoured  to  emulating  brightness,  was 
tucked  away  in  a  great  cupboard  in  the  shadowy 
alcove  made  by  the  projection  of  the  huge  chim 
ney.  The  fireplace  itself  was  not  the  least  orna 
mental  thing  in  the  room;  in  summer,  as  now,  it 
billowed  over  with  long  asparagus  plumes ;  in 
winter,  within  it,  comfort-bringing  flames  leaped 
and  flashed,  avidly  devouring  logs  of  beech  and 
hickory,  thick  as  a  man's  body.  A  large  buffalo 
hide  lay  in  front  of  it.  Rush-bottomed  chairs 
were  set  precisely  around  the  wall. 

In  the  grande  salle  a  couch  had  been  con 
trived,  and  over  it  was  spread  a  gay  chintz  cover 
in  a  pattern  of  bright,  wreathing  roses,  much 
esteemed,  it  was  said,  by  her  gracious  Majesty, 
Antoinette,  to  whom  they  all  secretly  bowed  down 
from  afar.  A  striking  silhouette  of  madame 


THE  NEW   HOME  IOI 

hung  above  the  fireplace,  its  black  outlines 
mercifully  ignoring  most  of  her  facial  defects. 
Opposite  it,  between  the  two  broad  front  win 
dows,  was  suspended  "  The  Passion,"  a  copper 
plate  of  much  excellence.  On  the  outer  wall-space 
was  a  superb  half-length  portrait  of  Monsieur 
Dubois,  done  in  the  prime  of  young  manhood 
while  on  a  tour  in  France.  It  represented  him 
as  elegantly  habited  in  a  coat  of  velvet,  heavily 
embroidered  with  gold,  with  deep  lace  ruffles 
pendent  from  the  sleeves ;  a  shirt  of  finest  lawn 
beruffled  with  lace,  flowed  over  upon  a  waistcoat 
of  flowered  silk.  His  own  dark  locks  were  roached 
high  and  tied  with  a  ribbon  behind.  It  was  the 
likeness  of  a  remarkably  personable  man,  dis 
figured  in  later  years  by  the  fat  of  idleness  and 
good  living. 

This  apartment  had  also  its  capacious  fireplace, 
which  bore  no  small  part  on  winter  nights  toward 
illuminating  it,  helping  out  the  candles  in  the 
high  silver  candle-sticks,  and  the  sconces  dis 
posed  about  on  the  wall.  The  guest-chamber 
lay  behind  the  grande  salle.  Half  a  dozen 
yards  to  the  rear  of  the  mansion  was  a  brick 
boulangere,  or  bakehouse,  where  all  the  cook 
ing  and  baking  was  done  at  the  great  fireplace 
hung  with  cranes,  and  in  the  big  oven.  The 


IO2  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

food  was  carried  across  the  intervening  space  to 
the  dining  room  by  the  panis,  of  whom  Colonel 
Dubois  had  many,  twice  enslaved  ;  for  Peggy,  the 
negro  cook,  herself  a  chattel,  held  them  under 
most  despotic  rule. 

Ferriby  was  borne  to  the  guest-chamber,  which 
was  large  and  airy.  The  high-post  bed,  with  its 
snowy  valance,  was  piled  full  of  feather  ticks,  the 
plumage  of  wild  geese  and  ducks  having  been 
ravaged  to  fill  them.  Over  them  was  spread 
sheets  of  homespun  linen,  made  from  the  wild 
flax  which  grew  abundantly  there,  scented  sweet 
with  dried  rose-leaves,  ready  to  receive  her  into 
their  cool  cherishing. 

They  laid  her  down  tenderly,  and  madame 
came  forward,  full  of  kindness,  to  take  upon 
herself  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  care  of  this 
stranger.  Into  this  home  Ferriby  was  received 
with  the  boundless  hospitality  of  the  pioneer,  who 
never  stopped  to  calculate  what  the  return  might 
be.  That  the  wayfarer  was  poor  and  needy,  was 
sufficient  to  establish  a  claim  on  his  good  offices ; 
it  was  only  right  to  share  his  better  lot  with  him. 

The  girl  had  hardly  made  a  motion  of  life, 
except  for  a  faint  flutter  of  her  eyelids,  and  an 
evanid  stain  on  her  cheeks  as  her  hand  fell  against 
the  sharp  edge  of  the  bed,  so  utterly  bound  in 


THE  NEW   HOME  IO3 

weariness  of  the  flesh,  and  spent  in  grief  was 
she. 

Madame  straightened  the  bedclothes  and  said : 
"  Poor  little  one !  Is  it  long  she  has  been  like 
this  ?  Much  she  needs  tender  care  !  " 

Father  Gibault  replied :  "  Your  compassion 
pleases  me,  Madame  Dubois ;  for  I  perceive  that 
le  bon  Dieu  has  touched  your  heart,  and  this 
poor  wanderer  will  be  well  cared  for.  She  has 
lain  as  you  see  her  now  for  about  six  and  thirty 
hours.  Be  not  alarmed.  It  is  only  the  tempo 
rary  heaviness  which  follows  too  great  stress  of 
mind  and  body." 

The  priest  was  something  of  a  physician,  as  all 
Jesuits  were,  and  he  gently  smoothed  the  pallid 
brow  of  the  girl  as  he  spoke.  "  The  shock  which 
reduced  her  to  this  has  been  something  great. 
Be  prepared,  madame.  She  may  awake  in  full  pos 
session  of  her  powers ;  and  she  may,  by  the  will 
of  the  good  God,  be  mercifully  bereft  of  all,  and 
remain  a  cretin  to  the  end  of  her  days." 

"  The  Saints  forbid  !  "  fervently  ejaculated 
madame. 

"  Should  that  prove  the  case,  we  will  take  her  to 
the  good  nuns  at  Quebec.  There  she  will  find 
asylum  if  we  fail  to  discover  her  friends."  Ma- 
dame's  three  daughters  were  standing  in  a  group 


104  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

aside,  listening ;  Elise  with  haughty  coldness  far 
too  pronounced  for  her  nineteen  years;  Jeanne 
with  sad  but  resigned  air,  strongly  at  variance 
with  her  youthful  face,  as  if  she  had  long  since 
made  up  her  mind  that  sorrow  constituted  the 
most  of  life, — a  nun  at  seventeen;  Suzanne,  her 
twin,  had  stinging  tears  running  down  her  red 
puffy  cheeks,  entirely  quenching  the  light  of  mis 
chief  which  usually  blazoned  her  bright  black 
eyes. 

"  She  shall  be  my  sacred  charge,"  murmured 
Jeanne ;  "  I  will  put  up  a  petition  for  her  night 
and  morning." 

"Good  child!"  said  Father  Gibault,  gently, 
"  Heaven  grants  the  prayers  of  the  sincere." 

"  And  I,  father  will  run  my  feet  off,  waiting 
on  her ! "  cried  Suzanne,  eagerly. 

"  And  forget  what  you're  running  for  on  the 
way,  while  stopping  to  play  some  teasing  trick," 
said  Elise  aside,  scornfully. 

But  Father  Gibault  overheard  her,  and  turned 
to  her  reprovingly  and  said :  — 

"  It  is  the  spirit  of  holy  charity,  Elise,  that  is  good 
in  the  child,  no  matter  if  performance  fall  short. 
But  thou,  my  daughter,  seem  to  have  none  for  the* 
forlorn  one  nor  for  thy  sister." 

It  was  as  stern  a  rebuke  as  the  gentle  priest 


THE  NEW   HOME  10$ 

was  capable  of,  and  Elise's  scornful  face  flushed 
red,  and  her  eyes  flashed  resentfully  as  they  rested 
on  the  face  of  the  newcomer. 

"'Tis   another  girl   in   the   house,   and   there 
were  enough  already ! "  she  muttered. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE    RETURN    OF    LANCASTER 

LANCASTER  disposed  of  his  peltries  to  the 
traders  at  Detroit  to  such  good  advantage  that 
he  felt  well  repaid  for  the  long,  perilous  journey 
he  had  taken.  On  a  bright  June  morning  he 
set  off  to  return  to  the  spot  in  the  far  wilder 
ness  where  dwelt  the  woman  he  loved.  But  the 
thought  of  her  on  whom  his  passionate  hopes 
centred  filled  him  with  unwonted  misgivings, — 
fears  that  never  before  had  troubled  his  bold 
mind.  The  way  was  long,  the  perils  many. 
Would  he  ever  see  her  again?  He  had  safely 
made  the  portage  at  O-mee,  had  floated  down 
the  pellucid,  sea-green  waters  of  the  upper 
Ouibache,  and  had  hailed  with  joy  the  cluster 
ing  We-a  villages  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tip-pe- 
cha-nunk.  Here  he  parted  company  with  the 
French  traders  who  had  set  him  on  his  way 
thus  far,  and  here  he  took  to  the  We-a  Trail 
through  the  forest,  which  would  bring  him  to 
within  a  half-day's  journey  of  the  cabin. 

1 06 


THE   RETURN  OF  LANCASTER  IO/ 

Across  the  fen-like  portage,  down  the  long 
sweep  of  the  river,  had  lurked  menacing  possi 
bilities,  now  all  safely  passed.  But  alone  in  the 
still  solitude  of  the  forest  intangible  fear  again 
assailed  him.  Life  had  a  distinct  value  now,  be 
cause  it  held  the  priceless  possession  of  Ferriby's 
love.  As  he  pushed  on  through  thick  umbra 
geous  dusk  his  heart  would  sink  like  lead,  and 
his  pace  slacken.  In  the  sunny  glades  his  spirits 
would  rise  with  the  buoyancy  of  the  milkweed 
down,  and  he  would  speed  forward  with  joy  and 
eagerness. 

After  three  days'  journeying  by  the  trail  he 
began  to  recognize  the  landmarks.  Here  was 
the  towering  elm  wreathed  with  wild  grape-vine, 
which,  when  he  set  out,  had  flung  its  redolence 
abroad;  so  sweet,  it  seemed  to  him,  with  new 
wonder,  to  be  love  etherealized !  Now  grapes  had 
formed,  large  as  buck-shot,  set  amid  young  leaves. 
His  ear  was  trained  to  hear  the  slightest  sounds, 
and  to  distinguish  between  them.  To  the  fron 
tiersman,  hearing  is  a  more  potent  sense  than 
sight;  for  sound  carries  its  message  through 
material  barriers  that  would  baffle  the  eye ;  stone 
walls  are  its  unwilling  agents ;  wind  is  its  faith 
ful  servitor;  it  can  interpret  where  sight  and 
smell  and  touch  would  be  defeated.  The  rush 


108  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

of  falling  water,  far  out  of  sight,  told  him  that 
the  little  cataract  at  the  stockade  was  near,  and 
that  in  a  few  lagging  moments  he  would  behold 
it.  He  climbed  the  high  hill  that  shut  it  off 
from  view  toward  the  north.  Half  a  mile  beyond 
lay  the  cabin.  Here  he  left  the  We-a  Trail  and 
followed  the  path  downward,  crossed  the  stream, 
and  climbed  the  steep  bluff  to  the  level  above. 
He  pushed  on  eagerly,  now  flinging  aside  the 
long  limb  of  a  beech,  now  crashing  through 
thickets  to  shorten  the  way.  His  eager  feet 
soon  brought  him  to  the  spot  where  he  knew 
he  could  catch  first  sight  of  the  cabin.  Here 
he  halted,  as  if  checked  suddenly  by  a  long-flung 
lasso.  He  pressed  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  as  if 
they  were  cheated  with  horrid  visions.  He 
looked  again !  Before  him  lay  a  ruined  home ! 
He  crashed  through  every  impediment  till  he 
reached  the  spot.  The  cabin  was  partly  de 
stroyed  by  fire,  and  pitying  nature  had  already 
tried  to  mask  its  devastation  by  entwining  it 
with  bindweed  and  wild-cucumber  vine.  Every 
thing  in  the  garden  had  grown  rank  and  tall. 
High  weeds  closed  in  the  place  with  a  green 
wall,  as  if  to  hide  the  sorrowful  wreck,  and  keep 
it  sacred  for  his  coming.  Lancaster  recalled  his 
self-control,  and  went  forward  trembling  with 


THE   RETURN  OF   LANCASTER  1 09 

fear,  sweating  with  terror,  at  thought  of  the  awful 
horrors  awaiting  him  within  that  ravaged  home. 
He  pushed  through  the  outer  phalanx  of  high 
weeds,  gorgeous  yellow  mustard  that  had  truly 
grown  tall  enough  to  shelter  the  fowls  of  the  air; 
he  trod  upon  the  great  jimsons,  loaded  with  pur 
ple  trumpets,  which,  crushed  by  his  heel,  blew 
him  a  blast  of  fetid  odor.  He  tore  from  the 
doorway  —  where  the  door  hung  forlornly  on  one 
leather  hinge  —  the  vines  that  criss-crossed  it 
like  a  great  web,  and  looked  within.  The  worst 
confronted  him  !  Desolation  !  For  a  time  he  was 
stupefied,  and  stood  staring,  dull  and  motionless. 
A  fluttering  roused  him.  A  swallow  beat  its 
wings  in  wild  circling  about  the  enclosure,  then 
darted  up  the  chimney  with  shrill,  sharp  cries  of 
fear.  He  mechanically  looked  up  the  stack,  — 
as  one  does  do  strange  acts  under  calamitous 
conditions,  —  and  saw  a  shelf -like  nest  full  of 
fledglings  stuck  against  the  chimney.  The 
mother-cry  roused  the  brood  to  loud  clamoring. 
And  it  tore  its  way  through  Lancaster's  dull 
senses ;  a  wail  broke  from  his  lips.  Nature  told 
him  by  these  small  creatures  that  this  home  had 
been  desolate  for  many  days.  He  wept  aloud. 
But  his  tears  were  soon  dried  by  awful  anger 
and  fierce  desire  for  revenge.  With  portentous 


110  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

calmness  he  looked  about  him.  Blank  ruin  met 
him  everywhere.  His  searching  eye  caught  a 
stain  of  red  on  the  smooth  log  near  the  door. 
He  walked  over  to  it,  and  saw  written  there 
roughly  with  keel,  these  words:  — 

"  All  in  this  house  perished  by  the  hand  of  the 
Indians.  A  party  of  hunters  found  the  bodies  of 
an  old  woman,  a  middle-aged  man,  and  a  child. 
All  had  been  scalped.  They  were  buried  in  one 
grave  beneath  the  big  pine  tree  under  the  ridge 
north  of  the  cabin,  on  the  5th  day  of  May,  1778. 
Their  innocent  blood  calls  for  vengeance ! " 

Lancaster  read  it  again,  dully  realizing  through 
his  despair  that  no  mention  was  made  of  a  girl. 
Hope  stirred  in  his  soul,  and  for  an  instant  grief 
was  banished  by  wild  joy  at  the  possibility  of 
Ferriby's  escape.  Saner  thoughts  brought  with 
them  the  awful  conviction,  that  if  she  were  a  pris 
oner  among  the  savages,  hers  was  the  more  ter 
rible  fate ;  worse,  far  worse,  than  death ! 

As  he  hurried  to  the  doorway,  his  foot  struck 
some  small  object  and  sent  it  spinning  before  him, 
with  a  sharp  tinkling  that  attracted  his  attention. 
He  stooped  to  look  at  it;  then  snatched  it  up 
eagerly. 

It  was  the  broken  bowl  of  a  calumet,  and  on  it 
was  carven,  roughly  but  spiritedly,  the  head  of  an 


THE  RETURN  OF  LANCASTER         III 

antelope !  Therein  lay  a  clew,  for  he  knew  the 
antelope  was  the  Manitou  of  the  Puans,  and  that 
the  murderers  must  be  of  that  tribe.  He  stowed 
it  in  his  hunting-pouch,  and  quickly  sought  the 
place  of  sepulture.  It  was  only  an  arrow-shot's 
distance  from  the  spot  where  he  had  parted  with 
Ferriby  not  two  months  ago.  It  was  marked  by 
a  heap  of  green  logs  piled  over  it  to  balk  the 
ravening  wolves.  Above  this  grave  of  a  house 
hold,  mortal  grief  was  dried  up  by  an  infuriate 
burning  for  revenge. 

Lancaster  looked  down  upon  it  a  moment,  then 
raised  his  right  hand  to  heaven,  and  cried :  "  If 
there  is  a  God  in  heaven,  help  me  to  find  her,  and 
avenge  them !  The  rest  of  my  life  I  will  spend 
to  this  end." 

With  a  despairing  look  around  he  left  the 
place,  and  followed  the  little  stream  which  would 
bring  him  to  the  crossing  of  the  trail. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

MADE    CAPTIVE 

LANCASTER'S  terrible  discovery  made  him  for 
getful  of  the  forest  foe,  the  scourge  of  the  white 
man,  —  and  he  moved  recklessly  along  the  path 
he  had  chosen  till  it  crossed  the  We-a  Trail.  He 
had  formed  no  plan,  but  the  human  mind  insen 
sibly  shapes  a  course,  —  purpose  once  taken, — 
and  sooner  or  later  it  is  followed.  He  dimly 
recalled  that  a  new  post  had  been  established  on 
La  Belle  Riviere,  far  southward,  at  the  junction 
of  the  Ouibache.  An  inward  monitor  urged  him 
to  go  there.  The  Ouibache  once  reached,  he 
hoped  to  fall  in  with  French  traders  bound  for 
Biloxi  or  New  Orleans,  who  would  give  him  pas 
sage  to  the  new  fort  in  their  batteaux. 

He  followed  the  trail  for  a  few  miles,  then 
turned  to  the  west,  pursuing  his  course  till  he 
came  to  a  place  where  numerous  tracks  crossed, 
traversing  the  forest,  worn  hard  by  the  passage  of 
the  tribes  on  peaceful  errands.  He  chose  one 
and  followed  it  with  no  uncertainty,  assured  by 

112 


MADE  CAPTIVE  113 

minute  signs  known  to  the  woodsman  and  the 
savage.  It  was  not  terrifying  to  Lancaster  to 
thread  the  mazes  of  the  wilderness,  nor  did  he 
fear  hunger.  He  could  provide  for  his  wants  as 
unfailingly  as  the  birds  of  the  air,  the  buffalo  on 
the  prairie,  the  deer  in  the  coppice.  Now  a  hand 
ful  of  wild  berries,  or  the  rich  overflow  of  a  bee- 
tree  betrayed  by  a  homing  bee,  or  a  fish  caught 
by  his  deft  hand  from  the  stream,  gave  him  sus 
tenance.  A  man  of  the  wilderness  is  not  the 
helpless  creature  of  the  town. 

With  a  mind  so  distracted,  bodily  fatigue  was 
nothing  to  him.  When  he  reached  the  broad, 
tawny  stream,  no  creature  was  in  sight ;  it 
rolled  in  solemn  loneliness  through  the  forest. 
His  disappointment  was  bitter.  Failing  the 
Frenchmen,  he  had  hoped  to  meet  with  a  hunt 
ing-party  of  friendly  Indians,  from  whom  he 
might  hear  of  the  Puans.  He  retreated  into  the 
wood  to  find  shelter  and  a  lookout  from  which 
he  could  observe  the  river  and  plain.  As  he 
pushed  through  the  tangle  of  paw-paw  and  hazel 
to  the  gentle  slope,  sly  faces  peeped  at  him  from 
the  coppice  and  from  behind  tree-boles,  circling 
like  squirrels  sighting  him.  When  he  reached 
the  summit,  he  drew  a  long  spent  breath  that 
acted  like  a  signal;  for  from  covert  sprang  a 


114  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

band  of  a  score  of  savages.  Their  faces  were 
horribly  smeared  with  ochre  and  keel.  Some 
were  naked ;  others  wore  a  clout  of  buckskin. 
Their  heads  were  pranked  out  with  feathers, 
token  they  were  on  the  war-path.  All  were 
furnished  with  scalping-knives  and  steel  hatchets. 
Some  were  armed  with  rifles  and  had  shot 
pouches  of  otter-skin,  and  buffalo  horns  for 
powder  that  swung  against  their  bare  rumps 
with  every  motion.  They  were  a  party  of  fierce 
Shewanees,  allies  of  the  English,  —  in  peaceful 
times,  sworn  enemies  of  the  strong  Puans ;  in 
war  against  the  whites,  their  brothers.  Both 
tribes  were  out  of  their  own  hunting-grounds,  and 
Lancaster  much  mistrusted  that  their  business 
was  other  than  a  peaceful  migration  to  the  com 
mon  grounds  of  the  Kentucky  country. 

A  young  warrior  rushed  upon  Lancaster,  bran 
dishing  a  hatchet.  He  involuntarily  blenched  at 
the  quick  thought  of  the  blade  crashing  through 
his  skull.  But  the  blow  was  stayed  by  the  stern 
command  of  the  warrior  chief.  The  young 
brave  dropped  his  weapon  to  his  arm's  length 
and  glared  at  Lancaster  with  a  concentration  of 
rage  and  hate  that  had  directed  the  hatchet.  It 
was  Ah-mah-nac-o,  the  Yellow  Wolf !  —  renegade 
from  the  friendly  We-as,  joined  to  the  hired 


MADE  CAPTIVE  1 15 

assassins  of  the  British.  Lancaster  well  knew 
it  was  for  vengeful  murder  he  was  attacked,  not 
for  the  reward  offered  for  a  scalp.  He  had  taken 
care  while  in  Detroit  to  have  his  blue-black  locks 
sheared  to  the  skin,  that  they  might  not  offer 
temptation  to  the  scalp-hunter ;  for  he  had  heard 
ugly  rumors  there  which  had  put  him  on  his  guard. 
Yellow  Wolf  scowled  fiercely,  and  muttered:  — 
"  The  White  Rose,  where  is  she  ?  " 
"  You  red  devil !  You  tell  me  where  she  is  or, 
by  Heaven,  I'll  brain  you ! "  cried  Lancaster,  en 
raged,  swinging  aloft  the  butt  of  his  rifle  to  bring 
it  down  in  a  crushing  blow  on  the  fellow's  head. 
Instantly  he  was  bound  with  bark  ropes,  soon  to 
be  the  tortured  plaything  of  the  savages,  as  he 
well  knew. 

"  Tell  me,  Ah-mah-nac-o,  is  Ferriby  alive  ?  "  he 
demanded,  while  they  were  securing  him. 

The  only  answer  the  savage  made  was  to  draw 
the  rope  tighter  till  it  buried  itself  deep  in  Lan 
caster's  flesh.  Not  a  sound  did  he  utter,  for  he 
knew  the  cruel  act  was  an  affirmative  answer, 
the  petty  revenge  of  a  thwarted  man. 

The  savages  retired  to  their  camp,  not  far  off, 
cunningly  hidden  in  a  thicket,  where  they  found 
preparation  for  supper  going  forward.  Though 
the  sun  had  not  set  on  the  prairie,  it  was  rapidly 


Il6  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

growing  dusky  in  the  forest,  and  the  camp-fire 
sent  abroad  a  wide  cheerful  glow,  that  reached 
as  far  as  the  sapling  to  which  Lancaster  was 
bound.  All  was  bustle  and  hurry ;  but  the  supper 
was  not  forthcoming  as  speedily  as  the  warriors 
wished,  and  they  became  hungrier  and  more 
irritable,  tantalized  by  the  clouds  of  savory  steam. 
Ah-mah-nac-o,  with  fiendish  insight,  perceived  that 
soon,  without  some  diversion,  contentions  would 
arise,  if  nothing  worse.  He  approached  the  chief 
and  made  some  request.  The  braves  standing 
near  by  laughed,  clapped  their  hands,  and  jumped 
for  joy.  Some  snatched  up  fallen  limbs  and 
reduced  them  to  clubs ;  others  tore  off  long 
brambles ;  some  broke  stout  stems  of  coppice, 
bristling  at  the  top  with  wiry  twigs;  others 
trusted  to  their  brawny  fists,  which  they  knotted 
and  relaxed  in  trial.  All  this  had  sinister  meaning 
to  Lancaster. 

The  Indians  formed  in  two  long  lines  down  one 
of  the  natural  aisles  of  the  forest,  torn  out  in 
primeval  times  by  a  savage  wind  that  left  it 
vacant  for  always.  Wide  apart  they  stood,  devil 
ish  satisfaction  on  their  dark  visages.  One  came 
to  Lancaster  and  unbound  him,  stripped  him  to 
the  skin,  and  he  knew  that  the  fearful  ordeal  of 
"  running  the  gantlet,"  was  before  him. 


MADE  CAPTIVE  I  \J 

At  the  far  end  of  this  murderous  lane  Ah-mah- 
nac-o  was  stationed,  his  lips  parted  in  a  wicked 
smile  of  triumph ;  for  if  the  victim  eluded  the 
others,  he  could  not  escape  the  Yellow  Wolf. 

To  Lancaster  the  lines  appeared  to  stretch 
endlessly  and  the  space  between  to  be  hopelessly 
narrow.  But  he  was  wiry,  agile,  and  fleet; 
and  made  valiant  by  the  hope  that  Ferriby  was 
alive,  he  trusted  to  gain  life  and  liberty  in  the 
end.  The  race  began.  One  tweaked  his  flesh 
with  fingers  of  nipping  steel ;  another  slashed 
him  to  the  raw  with  a  withe  of  leather-wood ;  one 
laced  a  pattern  in  blood  on  his  cheeks  with  wiry 
twigs;  snakelike  briers  twined  round  his  legs 
and  left  a  spiral  of  red  welts ;  a  great  oak  cudgel 
just  missed  cracking  his  skull ;  one  ear-lobe  was 
torn  from  the  cheek  by  a  cruel  jerk ;  his  feet  were 
crushed  by  billets  of  wood. 

When  a  savage  missed  his  aim,  derisive  yells 
spurred  on  the  next  to  do  his  utmost.  Smeared 
with  blood,  Lancaster  flashed  by  them,  twisting 
and  writhing  this  way  and  that,  ducking  and 
leaping  under  and  over.  Perfect  master  of  his 
body,  he  escaped  many  a  hurt.  The  end  was 
reached.  With  the  sweat  of  agony  washing  his 
scarred  cheeks,  blood  smearing  his  vision,  he 
saw  his  vengeful  foe  the  last  of  the  line.  In 


Il8  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

a  wild  bound  he  leaped  sideways  toward  the 
Yellow  Wolf,  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  rolled 
over  and  over,  like  a  ball,  from  out  the  murderous 
line ;  and  Ah-mah-nac-o's  hatchet  —  barred  on 
such  occasions  —  fell  impotent  in  a  miscalculated 
blow,  directed  with  such  terrific  force  as  to  topple 
over  the  would-be  assassin. 

Shouts  of  laughter  greeted  Yellow  Wolf's  mis 
chance,  and  put  the  war  chief,  —  "  Big  Hand,"  — 
who  had  been  a  spectator  at  this  amazing  show, 
in  so  fine  a  humor  that  he  declared  the  sport 
over.  He  grunted  his  approval  when  the  blood- 
smeared  ball  stood  upright  —  a  man  ! 

Fearful  need  of  courage  made  Lancaster  dumb, 
and  oblivious  to  pain,  —  panting  and  gasping,  it 
is  true,  but  silent.  His  escape  was  so  marvellous 
that  the  savages  regarded  him  with  awe.  The 
war  chief  cried  with  admiration  :  — 

"  White  man  good  brave  !  He  shall  be  one  of 
Big  Hand's  warriors !  He  shall  be  a  son  of  the 
Shewanees ! " 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE    ESCAPE 

AT  the  conclusion  of  the  feast,  gorged  to  sati 
ety,  the  savages  threw  themselves  down  to  sleep, 
but  not  before  they  secured  their  prisoner  for 
the  night.  Lancaster  had  mistrustfully  observed 
Ah-mah-nac-o,  usually  the  most  indolent  of  sav 
ages,  busy  preparing  two  stakes  from  saplings 
which  he  had  cut  near  by.  After  driving  them 
into  the  earth,  he  and  two  other  bucks  took  up 
Lancaster  by  head  and  heels,  and  laid  him  on  the 
ground  near  a  small  haw  tree. 

They  bound  his  feet  to  the  stakes,  which  were 
set  widely  apart,  passed  a  bark  rope  around  his 
neck  and  made  it  fast  to  the  little  tree  in  such  a 
way  that  if  he  strove  to  free  himself,  his  efforts 
would  end  in  strangling.  His  arms  were  ex 
tended,  and  a  pole  was  laid  across  his  breast  to 
their  extreme  length ;  and  these  members  were 
lashed  to  it  with  strips  of  green  leather-wood 
bark.  On  either  hand  lay  a  warrior  to  guard 
him,  one  of  whom  was  the  Yellow  Wolf.  Thus 

119 


120  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Lancaster  lay  till  morning,  his  muscles  twitching 
and  cramping  with  the  strain  until  the  pain  be 
came  agonizing,  and  he  could  scarcely  restrain 
shrieks  of  agony.  It  was  succeeded  by  a  merci 
ful  numbness;  but  sleep  did  not  visit  him  the 
night  through. 

His  wounded,  naked  body  was  chilled  with  the 
mists  of  the  morning  till  his  teeth  rattled  like  the 
tail  of  the  venomous  "  she-she-note."  Thirst  tor 
tured  him,  and  his  mouth  lay  open  with  the 
crowding  of  his  swollen  tongue.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  rope  around  his  neck  cut  off  his  wind,  and 
his  chest  heaved  in  the  effort  to  breathe.  Not  a 
groan  nor  cry  escaped  him  !  He  knew  that  yield 
ing  to  the  tortures  of  pain  would  incite  the  sav 
ages  to  further  cruelty. 

At  last  the  deep  blackness  of  the  forest,  which 
neither  the  few  glancing  stars  nor  the  late-rising 
moon  could  lighten,  began  to  change  to  a  gauzy 
gray  haze  as  fine  as  a  lady's  veil.  Birds  com 
menced  a  tentative  twittering;  now  and  then  a 
swift  pair  of  wings  whirred  as  the  timid  grouse  left 
their  nesting  places.  The  cub  squirrels  played  in 
the  early  dawn,  running,  leaping,  chattering,  un 
mindful  of  the  heavy  sleepers.  Far  and  faint,  the 
rustling  in  the  hazel  thickets,  the  sharp  stamp 
and  snort  that  sent  the  herd  off  in  swift  flight, 


THE  ESCAPE  121 

warned  him  that  the  deer  had  left  covert  for  an 
other  timorous  day.  He  could  hear  the  ponies 
cropping  the  crisped  grass.  But  the  glutted  sav 
ages  slept  on,  despite  these  signs  of  dawn.  Not 
one  awoke  till  a  long  shaft  fell  across  a  warrior's 
eyes,  and  he  roused  with  a  grunt  and  groan.  He 
rolled  over  and  all  were  awakened. 

As  there  was  nothing  left  over  from  the  feast 
to  eat,  they  at  once  prepared  for  the  day's  journey. 
When  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  march,  Lancas 
ter —  who  had  begun  to  think  he  was  to  be  left 
behind  to  die  in  the  forest,  as  no  notice  had  been 
taken  of  him  —  was  approached  by  two  young 
bucks,  who  untenderly  cut  the  rasping  cords  sunk 
deep  in  his  swollen  flesh.  By  signs  they  ordered 
him  to  rise,  and  laughed  uproariously  at  his  ef 
forts;  for  his  stiffened  muscles  refused  his  bid 
ding.  He  clinched  his  teeth,  that  no  groan  might 
shame  him  before  them,  and  tried  again  and  again, 
until  at  last  he  was  on  his  feet,  ready,  as  he  sup 
posed,  to  take  up  the  march. 

While  he  was  trying  to  overcome  his  inertness, 
three  or  four  savages  were  engaged  in  capturing 
a  young  stallion  which  followed  the  herd  peace 
fully  enough,  but  was  fierce  and  unbroken,  —  a 
very  demon.  With  lassos  and  long  goads  they 
so  far  subdued  him  as  to  tie  him  with  thongs  of 


122  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

bull-hide  to  a  sapling.  With  ears  laid  flat,  lips 
rolled,  teeth  snapping,  eyes  flashing  with  rage, 
heels  lashing,  he  presented  a  picture  of  uncon 
querable  fury.  At  last  they  threw  him  down 
upon  his  knees,  and  on  the  back  of  this  raging 
beast  they  bound  Lancaster.  His  feet  were  tied 
together  under  the  brute's  belly,  his  arms  were 
fastened  securely  to  his  sides  at  the  elbows,  and 
moccasins  were  thrust  over  his  hands  and  secured 
with  strings,  that  he  might  not  shield  himself  from 
the  lashing  of  brush  and  bramble.  Another  rope 
was  passed  round  his  neck,  one  end  of  which  was 
tied  to  the  horse's  head,  the  other  to  the  tail ; 
still  another  bound  his  thighs  and  lashed  his 
body  to  the  animal. 

While  the  Indians  were  at  this  fiendish  employ 
ment  they  leaped  and  gibed,  and  uttered  shrieks 
of  delight  at  the  fierce  resistance  of  the  beast. 
The  victim  was  passive.  When  all  was  done,  they 
turned  the  stallion  loose.  Away  he  dashed  in 
mighty  plunges.  Blinded  by  rage,  leaping  over 
fallen  timber,  barely  escaping  destruction  from 
the  great  boles  of  the  standing  trees;  shaking, 
rearing,  pawing  in  vain  effort  to  dislodge  his 
burden ;  crashing  through  thickets  till  the  withes 
lashed  the  wounds  of  the  wretched  man  into  a 
thousand  bleeding  stripes ;  leaping  gullies  that 


Away  he  dashed  in  mighty  plunges. 


THE   ESCAPE  123 

yawned  wide  for  their  destruction ;  flying  like  an 
arrow  shot  from  a  bow  through  grassy  glades,  — 
for  long  the  beast  fled,  sides  heaving,  breath 
sobbing,  in  a  fearful  race  whose  goal  was  destruc 
tion. 

At  first  Lancaster  was  stupefied  with  despair. 
Having  the  use  of  neither  arms  nor  legs,  he  re 
signed  himself  to  a  speedy  end.  When  the  rage 
and  terror  of  the  stallion  subdued  as  fatigue 
overcame  him,  Lancaster's  hope  revived.  He 
began  to  use  his  voice,  and  by  pressure  of  his  legs 
on  the  animal's  side,  to  exercise  control ;  and  the 
horse  for  the  first  time  yielded  to  the  mastery  of 
a  human  will.  He  settled  into  a  dejected  walk, 
then  came  to  a  halt,  and  turned  his  flaming  eyes 
toward  Lancaster  in  piteous  submission.  Instinct, 
that  quality  which  men  lack  that  would  place  them 
among  the  gods,  came  into  play  in  the  animal, 
and  he  sought  his  herd.  Turning,  he  took  a 
new  direction,  which  Lancaster  knew  to  be  north 
by  the  long  sun-seeking  limbs  of  the  crowded 
saplings.  The  weary  horse  walked  steadily  on 
with  lowered  crest,  now  and  then  stopping  to 
drink  from  the  shining  cold  streams  that  trickled 
from  the  deep  gorges  which  cleft  the  forest. 

The  man  endured  torture  while  the  beast 
swilled  long,  refreshing  draughts.  Hunger  was 


124  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

forgot  in  raging  thirst.  At  last  they  struck  the 
We-a  Trail,  and  at  sunset  the  exhausted  horse 
whinnied  feebly  as  they  entered  a  little  dell,  shut 
in  by  paw-paws  and  arrow-wood  and  twisting 
vines.  He  left  the  beaten  track  and  forced  an 
entrance  through  the  thick  boscage. 

Lancaster,  somewhat  revived  by  the  weakling 
hope  he  had  cherished,  now  gave  up  utterly  to 
despair.  He  felt  indeed  forsaken  of  God  and 
man.  The  animal's  instinct  had  been  infallible. 
Before  him  lay  the  camp  of  his  torturers,  and 
near  at  hand  browsed  the  herd. 

The  savages  could  hardly  recognize  the  man ; 
but  of  the  identity  of  the  beast  they  had  no 
doubt.  With  wild  shouts  they  rushed  toward 
them ;  but  the  war  chief,  Big  Hand,  ordered 
them  back,  and  selecting  two  young  braves,  bade 
them  unbind  Lancaster. 

They  lifted  him  from  the  stallion  more  dead 
than  alive.  He  was  past  caring  what  further 
fate  might  visit  upon  him.  Big  Hand  regarded 
his  apathy  with  favor ;  it  was  proof  of  a  warrior's 
spirit. 

One  youth,  of  kindlier  nature  than  his  fellows, 
helped  him  to  a  wigwam.  His  naked  body  was 
a  mass  of  welts  and  bruises  laid  over  his  old 
wounds,  now  turning  to  green  and  purple 


THE  ESCAPE  125 

blotches.  The  savage  bathed  him,  gave  him 
water,  and  saw  him  fall  back  in  deathlike  ex 
haustion  with  complacency.  Was  it  not  the  test 
of  a  warrior,  which  he  himself  had  undergone  be 
fore  he  was  fit  to  be  numbered  among  the  braves  ? 
Lancaster  was  again  securely  bound,  and  he  sank 
into  a  coma  of  weariness,  so  that  neither  sleeping 
nor  waking  thoughts  troubled  him. 

He  was  roused  at  dawn,  and  so  tremendously 
vital  was  his  forest-nurtured  strength  that  he  felt 
refreshed  despite  his  cruel  hurts.  His  minister 
ing  friend  gave  him  bears'  grease  to  dress  his 
wounds,  and  brought  him  a  morsel  of  food, 
which  he  devoured  ravenously.  The  fever  in 
his  wounds  had  subsided,  and  youth  responded 
in  him,  and  made  him  able  to  endure  the  long 
march  of  that  day.  They  filed  through  the 
sombre  forest,  full  of  flitting  birds  and  wildly 
fleeing  beasts,  and  came  to  a  great  stretch  of 
prairie,  now  brilliant  with  myriad  June  flowers, 
set  in  tall  seeding  grasses.  At  last  a  flash  daz 
zled  them  from  out  the  far  green.  The  war 
chief  grunted  with  satisfaction.  It  was  the 
stately  Ouibache.  A  few  leagues  above  this 
point  lay  hidden  snugly  their  canoes,  and  a  raft 
for  the  ponies  which  would  bear  them  back  to 
their  village. 


126  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

Lancaster's  heart  sank,  for  the  last  hope  of 
escape  fled  at  sight  of  the  river.  They  would 
take  him  to  the  village  and  practise  unnameable 
horrors  on  him,  or  make  him  the  meanest  of 
slaves.  His  sole  chance  of  escape  had  lain  in 
their  camping  that  night. 

When  they  reached  the  brink  of  the  river,  a 
herd  of  startled  deer  flashed  their  red  sides  by 
them ;  not  so  swiftly  but  that  a  brocket  fell  dead 
at  the  crack  of  Yellow  Wolf's  rifle.  Jaded  and 
hungry  after  the  long  day's  march,  they  could 
not  resist  the  chance  to  gorge.  In  the  gathering 
dusk  the  inferior  braves  built  a  fire  of  drift-wood 
and  dead  grasses.  They  spitted  gobbets  of  yet 
warm  flesh  on  bending  green  withes,  and  not 
waiting  to  more  than  sear,  devoured  them ;  some 
ate  their  portions  raw.  So  drowsily  content  did 
they  become  afterward,  they  resolved  to  camp 
again  instead  of  seeking  the  boats  five  miles  far 
ther  up-stream.  They  replenished  the  fire  and 
capered  about  the  flames  in  a  fantastic  fire-dance, 
groaning  a  barbaric  chant,  now  and  then  dis 
charging  a  gun  to  add  to  the  uproar.  The  old 
warriors  looked  on  impassively,  smoking  their 
willow  bark.  Lancaster,  to  whom  they  had  be 
come  accustomed,  was  carelessly  guarded  by 
one  young  brave,  who  was  completely  absorbed 


THE   ESCAPE  1 27 

in  watching  the  fire-dance,  in  which  he  could 
not  take  part 

As  the  flames  leaped  higher,  the  dance  grew 
madder ;  a  frenzy,  an  ecstasy !  When  the  moon 
came  lingeringly,  she  threw  the  sad  light  of  her 
flattened  orb  on  as  mad  a  scene  as  ever  Eblis 
saw.  The  river  at  this  point  flowed  strongly 
between  its  clay  banks.  In  the  centre  a  brawl 
ing  current  swept  swiftly,  turbulently,  as  if  im 
peded  by  deeply  bedded  boulders;  but  close  to 
the  shore  the  water  spread  calm  as  a  mill-pond. 

Lancaster,  whose  hands  and  feet  were  still 
bound  with  bark  rope,  looked  on  apathetically. 
Chanting  had  resolved  into  wild,  incoherent 
shrieks,  to  which  now  and  again  an  old  warrior 
added  a  deep  guttural  note.  Oblivious  to  all  else, 
they  were  possessed  of  a  mania  for  noise  and 
motion.  One  young  buck  in  mad  excitement 
twirled  his  scalping-knife  high.  It  flew  over  the 
heads  of  the  revellers  and  buried  itself  in  the 
earth  near  Lancaster;  he  alone  saw  it.  He  bit 
the  bark  from  his  wrists,  tearing  at  it  like  a  rend 
ing  beast  till  his  hands  were  loose.  He  snatched 
up  the  knife,  slashed  the  rope  on  his  feet.  He 
was  free !  —  amid  a  band  of  savages,  a  stretch  of 
prairie  behind,  a  raging  torrent  before.  Not  an 
instant  did  he  lose ;  he  crept  to  the  margin  and 


128  ON   THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

plunged  into  the  tossing  current  mid-stream. 
Some  fine  ear  caught  the  splash  amid  all  the 
clamor,  and  with  a  yell  the  savages  discovered 
their  loss.  A  dozen  guns  were  levelled  at  him 
with  deadly  aim,  but  they  had  been  emptied  in 
the  wild  dance. 

Lancaster's  course  was  instantly  taken.  He 
saw  in  the  wan  light,  with  the  power  of  a  hun 
dred  eyes,  that  fifty  yards  to  the  south  lay  a 
dense  thicket  of  willows  growing  up  to  the  mar 
gin  of  the  river.  These  he  must  reach  or  perish ! 
But  he  was  swimming  against  the  current  up 
stream,  wasting  his  depleted  strength  in  futile 
effort  to  battle  with  the  wild  flood.  He  threw  up 
his  arms  again  and  again  in  vain  struggle  for  life. 
The  savages  shouted  derisively  at  his  folly.  Each 
time  he  seemed  to  drop  lower,  and  struggle  harder, 
till  at  last  he  sank  with  the  plunge  of  a  plummet 
before  their  eyes.  The  moon  was  covered  by  a 
film  of  clouds  and  her  light  obscured.  The  Ind 
ians,  anticipating  the  end,  made  no  effort  to  save 
Lancaster.  They  watched  the  place  where  he 
had  gone  down,  but  the  body  did  not  rise  again. 
All  returned  to  the  fire  but  two  old,  suspicious 
warriors,  who  gazed  with  fascinated  eyes  on  the 
spot  where  Lancaster  had  sunk.  Neither  noticed 
a  dark  object  floating  in  the  water  not  far  below 


THE   ESCAPE  129 

where  they  stood,  for  their  eyes  were  cast  out 
ward. 

Lancaster  had  dived,  and  swam  under  water 
down-stream,  gradually  nearing  the  shore.  He 
had  acquired  the  art  of  swimming  in  deep  water 
with  his  body  erect  and  entirely  submerged,  using 
his  feet  only,  much  as  in  walking,  so  that  there 
was  little  disturbance  on  the  surface.  He  could 
keep  under  water  two  or  three  minutes  at  a  time, 
which  sufficed  to  take  him  away  from  mid-channel, 
on  which  the  old  Indians  gazed.  When  he  had 
passed  their  line  of  vision,  he  was  far  enough  from 
them  to  thrust  his  nose  out  of  water  for  a  breath, 
and  immediately  sank  again.  And  thus  cau 
tiously  he  made  his  way  beneath  the  water,  under 
their  very  eyes,  to  the  covert  he  had  chosen. 
When  the  camp  fell  into  heavy  slumber,  he  hid  in 
the  willows,  and  in  the  early  dawn  watched  their 
departure,  naked,  hungry,  half  dead,  but  free ! 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

IN    HIDING 

WHEN  Lancaster  was  convinced  that  he  had 
outwitted  his  enemies,  the  strength  which  despair 
had  given  him  left  him  as  suddenly  as  the  smoke 
from  a  trodden  puff-ball,  and  as  utterly  collapsed. 
He  was  so  exhausted  he  had  hardly  strength  to 
drag  his  worn  body  up  on  the  sand  under  the 
screening  of  the  willows.  His  swim  in  the  river 
had  been  grateful  to  his  wounds,  and  had  soothed 
their  pain.  Companionship  with  the  stinging, 
creeping  things  which  disported  themselves  on 
the  beach  was  delightful  after  the  fierce  company 
of  the  savage.  Some  hours  passed,  and  he  was 
appalled  to  find  that  he  had  lost  control  of  his 
muscles ;  that  he  was  a  sentient  being  as  power 
less  as  a  felled  tree.  He  could  not  move  from  the 
shallow  imprint  his  bulk  had  made  in  the  sand. 
That  he  was  naked  and  destitute  as  when  he 
entered  the  world  did  not  now  trouble  him  more 
than  then.  If  he  might  have  use  of  his  strong 
and  sturdy  legs,  he  could  supply  his  more  vital 

130 


IN   HIDING  131 

needs.  Through  the  beneficence  of  Providence, 
in  whom  he  somewhat  vaguely  believed,  the  forest 
would  furnish  him  food  and  raiment  for  the  taking. 
But  not  by  the  most  strenuous  willing  could  he 
help  himself. 

He  groaned  in  impotent  rebellion  against 
Nature's  course  with  him,  who  like  a  wise  and 
kind  mother  looked  to  his  welfare.  She  locked 
fast  his  senses  in  sleep  in  which  pain,  hunger, 
desolation,  and  revenge  were  made  naught.  His 
terrible  experience  and  overweening  fatigue 
called  for  entire  repose,  and  he  slept  unbrokenly 
for  nearly  two  days. 

He  was  awakened  at  last  by  a  clammy  contact 
with  his  out-thrown  hand.  He  roused  with  a 
shock  of  surprise  to  his  surroundings,  just  as  a 
huge  turtle  scuttled  into  the  water.  Then 
memory  overwhelmed  him  with  all  he  had 
endured.  He  attempted  to  leap  to  his  feet  and 
fell  back  groaning.  But  pain  must  be  overcome; 
constricted  muscles  must  be  made  supple  by 
action,  and  after  many  trials  he  found  himself  on 
his  feet.  Hunger  made  him  sick  and  giddy.  He 
was  afraid  to  leave  covert  in  search  of  food,  as 
it  was  now  bright  day.  The  sunlight  filtered 
through  the  dancing  leaves  of  his  retreat  almost 
vertically,  and  he  had  no  idea  of  the  time  that 


132  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

had  passed  since  he  had  last  seen  it.  He  crept 
to  the  brink  of  the  river  and  drank  of  the  muddy 
water.  Then  he  recalled  the  scuttling  turtle, 
and  he  began  to  search  for  eggs  that  he  sus 
pected  she  had  deposited  in  the  sand,  and  was 
not  long  in  finding  them.  He  eagerly  tore  open 
their  tough,  opaque  skins  and  ate  till  hunger  was 
appeased. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  sand  and  dropped 
his  head  on  his  drawn-up  knees.  So  close  is  the 
relation  of  flesh  to  spirit,  that  with  food  strength 
and  courage  revived.  His  ear,  trained  as  stealth 
ily  as  an  Indian's,  guarded  the  outposts  of  the 
mind,  while  his  thoughts  were  busy  planning 
relief  for  his  desperate  situation.  Destiny  had 
visited  him  with  cruel  defeat  and  cast  him  naked 
on  a  sandy  shore.  His  resolution  to  find  Ferriby 
strengthened.  If  she  were  alive,  he  would  rescue 
her  from  worse  than  death  ;  if  no  other  way  pre 
sented,  he  would  take  her  life  with  his  own  hand. 
Better  that  than  concubinage  among  the  savages! 
He  gazed  dully  out  upon  the  dun  waters  of  the 
Ouibache.  An  object  crossed  his  strained  vision. 
With  a  start  he  roused  to  its  meaning.  It  was 
a  canoe,  thrown  out  of  the  mid-current  into  the 
calmer  waters  shore-ward.  It  drifted  idly,  and 
told  mutely  of  disaster  and  ruin.  Here  was  a 


IN  HIDING  133 

means  of  escape !  He  felt  that  he  must  secure 
it  at  whatever  risk,  —  discovery  by  the  savage  or 
drowning.  He  plunged  into  the  stream  and 
struggled  fiercely  with  his  stiffened  muscles.  A 
swirl  brought  the  craft  within  reach,  and  he 
managed  to  push  it  ashore.  In  it  lay  the  silent 
witness  to  murder  done,  —  a  great  red  stain  that 
showed  where  the  body  had  slipped  overboard ; 
a  roll  of  clothing  such  as  trappers  wore,  thrown 
off  in  the  exertion  of  rowing ;  a  bundle  of  otter- 
skins,  which,  doubtless,  the  victim  had  thought 
to  traffic  with  at  O  Poste.  Lancaster's  limbs 
trembled  with  the  exertion.  His  head  swam,  a 
feeling  of  defeat  came  over  him  which  so  un 
manned  him  that  he  nearly  wept.  Then  fiery 
anger  filled  him  that  his  strength  should  have  so 
deserted  him  in  this  his  time  of  need.  He  sternly 
mastered  himself  and  resolved  to  set  off  that  very 
night,  under  cover  of  darkness,  by  the  river, 
which  of  late  the  Indians  had  abandoned  ;  and 
for  what  reason  the  pioneers  were  slowly  learning. 
When  night  fell,  with  it  came  showers.  Lancas 
ter  dressed  in  the  poor  garments,  buckskin  jerkin 
and  leggings,  but  they  sufficed.  A  willow  pole 
served  him  for  an  oar.  He  trusted  much  to  the 
swift  current  to  bear  him  to  the  American  fort  on 
La  Belle  Riviere,  and  set  off  on  his  long  journey. 


134  °N  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Sometimes  he  drowsed  from  weakness,  then 
roused  himself  by  sheer  force  of  will.  Now  he 
drifted  with  scarcely  a  motion  ;  again,  rushed  with 
frightful  velocity  over  rapids.  In  the  early  hours 
of  the  morning  he  saw  against  the  sky  a  stain  of 
red,  like  some  gorgeous  bird  against  the  dazzling 
blue.  It  was  a  mere  speck,  but  soon  it  showed 
motion,  and  rounding  the  great  bend  he  saw  the 
flag  of  King  George;  below  it  lay  the  strong 
fortress  of  O  Poste. 

To  him,  a  Virginian,  the  thought  of  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  English  was  little  less  agreeable 
than  into  those  of  the  savages.  He  could  not 
submit  to  the  loss  of  another  day,  and  deten 
tion  would  be  fatal  to  his  designs.  He  suspected 
the  Puans  whom  he  sought  had  gone  to  the 
south,  where  the  greater  number  of  American 
pioneers  lived,  —  if  not  for  scalps,  then  for  buffalo, 
which  at  this  season  fed  in  great  herds  on  the 
Drowned  Lands. 

It  was  not  yet  sun-up,  and  he  resolved  to  await 
the  moment  of  guard-mounting  to  slip  by  the 
stockade,  which  lay  close  to  the  bank,  on  a  slight 
elevation  above  it.  No  man  passed  that  way 
without  accounting  for  himself,  but  Lancaster 
resolved  to  be  the  exception.  As  the  sun  rose,  a 
gun  boomed  from  the  fort.  Just  then  a  fleet  of 


IN   HIDING  135 

bark  canoes  set  off  down-stream  from  the  Indian 
village  opposite.  Lancaster  slipped  among  them, 
and  it  was  not  noticed  that  a  half-naked,  sun- 
browned  white  had  passed  the  fort  unchallenged. 


. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


CLARK'S  GUIDE 


THE  Piankeshaws  were  bound  for  the  Drowned 
Lands  on  a  buffalo  hunt,  as  Lancaster  soon  dis 
covered.  He  also  learned  that  the  raid  of  the 
Puans  was  entirely  unknown  to  them,  living,  as 
they  were,  peaceably  under  the  walls  of  Fort 
Sackville.  He  parted  from  them  after  noon. 
With  great  friendliness  they  had  provided  for  his 
wants,  even  to  arming  him.  In  return  for  their 
kindness  he  had  presented  them  the  bundle  of 
otter-skins,  and  a  few  ounces  of  raw  tobacco 
which  he  had  found  in  the  pocket  of  the  trapper's 
jerkin;  its  "familiar,"  the  corn-cob  pipe,  had  prob 
ably  gone  the  road  its  master  had  taken.  With 
every  appearance  of  regret  the  Indians  saw  his 
boat  bear  him  away  to  the  far-off  Belle  Riviere. 

As  Lancaster  neared  the  falls,  the  white  settlers 
became  more  numerous,  and  he  did  not  fail  to 
visit  every  cabin  and  stockade  to  make  inquiry 
for  his  enemy,  the  Puan.  At  last  he  obtained 
news.  A  band  of  savages  had  been  seen  far  to 

136 


CLARK'S  GUIDE  137 

the  northwest,  across  the  prairie,  either  bound  for 
a  "big  hunt,"  or  for  Kaskaskia,  where  numerous 
bands  had  already  gone  to  make  submission  to 
Rocheblave,  now  highest  in  authority  in  the  Illi 
nois  country  since  the  recall  of  Abbott.  On 
hearing  this,  Lancaster  hastened  his  journey,  nor 
could  his  speed  keep  pace  .vith  his  impatience. 
He  gave  up  his  design  of  going  to  Corn  Island, 
and  continued  up  the  majestic  current' of  La 
Belle  Riviere  for  many  days,  sometimes  alone, 
sometimes  in  the  company  of  hunters  and  trap 
pers,  till  at  last  he  reached  the  little  river,  on 
which,  a  few  miles  above  its  mouth,  Kaskaskia 
lay. 

He  found  many  tribes  gathered  there,  but  for 
what  purpose  he  did  not  know,  other  than  the 
pacific  one  given  by  the  pioneers.  His  search 
was  vain.  No  Puan  was  there!  In  despair  he 
joined  a  party  of  hunters  and  trappers  off  to  the 
Kentucky  hunting-grounds.  He  declined  their 
proffers  of  aid,  except  to  set  him  on  his  way,  as 
far  as  it  might  be  theirs.  He  was  not  cheerful 
company,  but  the  reckless  frontiersmen  respected 
his  grief,  on  hearing  his  story,  and  he  pursued 
his  journey  in  their  company  in  dull  silence. 
Under  the  spell  of  his  gloomy  thoughts  he  did 
not  observe  that  they  were  approaching  an  island ; 


138  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

and,  more  singular  still,  that  a  crowd  of  people 
were  running  hither  and  thither,  like  ants  dis 
turbed  in  an  ant  hill. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  said  one  of  the  rowers, 
in  a  low,  uneasy  tone. 

"  Are  they  enemies  or  friends  ?  "  asked  another, 
anxiously. 

They  shipped  their  oars,  and  the  boats  dropped 
slowly  and  steadily  toward  the  island.  Each  com 
pany  gazed  with  absorbing  interest  at  the  other. 
With  the  long  sight  of  the  frontiersman  they 
made  out  the  points  of  feature  and  garb  which 
proved  the  men  on  the  island  to  be  white  men. 

"  But  are  they  Kentuckians  or  English  ?  They 
are  worse  than  the  red  devils  since  this  war  of 
the  colonies,"  muttered  one  man,  angrily. 

Meantime  they  reached  hailing  distance,  and 
were  bespoke  from  the  shore.  A  loud  challenge, 
which  it  was  not  prudent  to  disregard,  caused  them 
to  row  briskly  to  the  island,  under  the  cocked 
guns  of  as  motley  a  crew  as  ever  bore  arms. 

A  squad  of  men,  dressed  in  uncouth  pioneer 
fashion,  surrounded  them  as  they  landed,  that 
were  evidently  under  the  command  of  a  person 
who  stood  a  little  to  one  side.  This  man  was  in 
the  prime  of  young  manhood,  of  martial  bearing, 
of  tremendous  vitality  and  athletic  strength.  His 


CLARK'S   GUIDE  139 

figure  was  so  perfectly  symmetrical  that  it  had  the 
effect  of  lessening  his  stature  until  it  was  brought 
into  close  contrast  with  men  of  ordinary  height. 
His  large  head  was  covered  with  a  fall  of  light 
brown  hair  that  lay  upon  his  shoulder.  A  strong 
hooked  nose  gave  severity  to  his  countenance, 
which  a  generous  mouth  with  firmly  closed  lips 
mitigated.  His  cheeks  and  lips  were  smooth- 
shaven.  His  skin,  naturally  fair,  was  like  a  well- 
tanned  hide,  from  exposure.  His  cold,  deep  blue 
eyes  regarded  the  newcomers  with  a  gaze  that 
nothing  could  disconcert,  and  read  them  like  a 
horn-book. 

This  backwoods  commander  was  endowed 
with  a  presence  of  majesty,  a  genius  for  military 
strategy,  a  leadership  of  men.  His  manner  pos 
sessed  a  dignity  which  could  unbend  to  affability, 
even  gayety.  Combined  with  these  qualities  was 
the  dash  and  vigor  of  the  ordained  conqueror. 

The  prisoners,  for  such  Lancaster  and  his  com 
panions  were  until  they  proved  their  friendli 
ness  were  led  into  the  presence  of  this  man,  and 
they  instinctively  felt  his  superiority,  and  evinced 
it  by  a  restless  shifting  of  feet,  falling  of  eyes 
under  his  searching  look.  At  last  his  lips  un 
closed,  and  he  spoke  in  a  full  round  voice  with 
no  uncertain  ring  of  dominance.  He  addressed 


I4O  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

himself  to  the  leader,  whom  he  picked  out  with 
unerring  sagacity. 

"  You  are  Englishmen  ?  " 

"  No ;  Americans." 

"  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

"  We  are  lately  settled  in  the  Illinois  country, 
and  are  now  bound  for  the  Kentucky  hunting- 
grounds  on  a  big  hunt." 

The  face  of  Clark  relaxed  somewhat  from  its 
severity,  for  well  he  knew  the  charm  of  a  "  big 
hunt." 

"  Were  you  aware  that  the  Indians  are  on  the 
war-path,  and  that  they  are  to  be  rewarded  for  the 
delivery  of  the  scalps  of  the  American  pioneers 
to  the  forts  at  Kaskaskia  and  O  Poste?" 

"  No,  sir ;  not  until  this  fellow  joined  us,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  Lancaster,  who  stood  a  few  paces 
aside. 

The  commander's  glance  had  briefly  settled  on 
him  more  than  once.  Now  he  addressed  Lan 
caster  :  — 

"  Why  did  you  join  this  party  ?  "  he  asked 
Lancaster,  without  a  hint  in  his  tone  of  that  sus 
picion  which  he  secretly  held. 

"  I  hoped  to  cross  the  grand  prairie  on  a  private 
enterprise,  on  the  trail  of  a  tribe  hunting  there." 

"  Ah !     Perhaps  you  could  be  induced  to  relate 


CLARK'S  GUIDE      • 

what  that  private  enterprise  is."  His  tone  was 
equivalent  to  a  command. 

"  It  is  only  another  story  of  the  treachery  and 
brutality  of  the  savage,"  said  Lancaster:  "  But 
if  it  be  your  humor  to  hear  it,  I  will  tell  it." 

The  commander  led  Lancaster  aside,  for  his 
sympathy  and  perception  were  as  keen  as  his  tact 
and  invention  were  ready,  Lancaster  related  the 
story  to  him,  rousing  his  compassion  and  interest. 
Lover  the  commander  never  had  been,  nor  ever 
would  be;  and  down  deep  in  his  warlike  soul 
there  might  have  been  a  touch  of  impatience, 
that  a  man,  young  and  strong,  should  let  such  a 
blow  crush  him,  as  he  perceived  the  loss  of  the 
girl  had  the  youth. 

With  feelings  refined  by  grief  almost  to  clair 
voyance,  Lancaster  felt  this  unexpressed  scorn, 
and  it  braced  him  like  cool,  pure  air.  He 
straightened  his  drooping  shoulders,  set  his  lips 
firmly,  banished  the  half-insane  melancholy  from 
his  eyes,  and  gave  the  man  look  for  look  as  cou 
rageous  as  his  own.  He  stood  before  him  as 
goodly  a  man  as  he,  and  a  tenderer.' 

The  commander  smiled  faintly,  rejoicing  in 
the  pluck  that  could  be  roused  by  the  challenge 
of  an  eye.  It  won  his  respect  and  confidence.  : 

"  I  will  trust  you,  my  man,  as  I  will  none  of 


142  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

your  fellows.  I  am  Clark  of  Virginia,  commis 
sioned  by  Governor  Patrick  Henry  to  wrest  the 
French  towns  in  the  Illinois  country  from  the 
English." 

"  It  is  a  tremendous  design ! "  said  Lancaster, 
involuntarily  letting  his  gaze  wander  toward  the 
men  who  composed  the  invading  army,  —  less 
than  two  hundred  all  told. 

"  You  fear  failure,  I  perceive,"  said  Clark. 
"  They  are  tried,  picked  men,  and  victory  is 
not  always  to  numbers,"  —  drawing  himself  up 
proudly,  —  "  and  I,  Clark,  am  leader !  " 

His  superb  courage  heartened  Lancaster.  It 
was  an  enterprise  wilder  and  more  daring  than 
those  rumored  of  the  Continental  army,  garbled 
accounts  of  which  reached  even  this  wilderness 
outpost. 

To  one  like  Lancaster,  worked  up  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  passion, — bitter  hate,  longing 
for  revenge,  —  Clark's  unfaltering  determination 
that  could  not  entertain  the  thought  of  an  ob 
stacle,  appealed  irresistibly.  He  no  longer 
doubted  the  feasibility  of  his  design.  Indeed, 
he  forgot  he  had  held  a  momentary  doubt. 

Clark  explained  his  plan  of  advance,  and  when 
he  spoke  of  leaving  La  Belle  Riviere  at  the  little 
creek  a  few  miles  above  old  Massac,  to  march 


CLARK'S  GUIDE  143 

across  the  prairie,  thus  greatly  reducing  the  dis 
tance,  Lancaster  eagerly  offered  himself  as  guide  ; 
for  this  fell  in  with  his  own  plans. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  force  of  the  garrisons  at 
Sackville  and  Gates  ?  "  asked  Clark. 

"  I  know  nothing  definitely.  Gates  is  the  seat 
of  power  in  the  Illinois  country,  and  is  but  care 
lessly  guarded.  Sackville  is  feebly  garrisoned; 
by  strategy  I  slipped  under  its  stockade,  a  few 
days  ago." 

"You  have  the  making  of  a  soldier  in  you! 
'Tis  a  thousand  pities  — "  cried  Clark,  im 
patiently,  then  broke  off  his  speech  as  he  looked 
into  the  youth's  pale,  worn  face,  almost  aged  by 
grief  with  which  he  could  not  sympathize. 

"  Sir,  is  not  a  faithful  lover  good  metal  for  a 
faithful  soldier  ?  "  asked  Lancaster,  with  simple 
dignity. 

"  Aye,  aye !  I  doubt  it  not ! "  said  Clark, 
hastily ;  then  muttered  to  himself,  "  I  could 
never  become  the  father  of  cowards !  "  ending  in 
a  deep  breath  which  in  another  would  have  been 
a  sigh.  Clark  returned  to  the  other  men,  whom 
he  questioned  separately.  Better  informed  than 
Lancaster,  they  told  him  of  the  equipment  of 
Fort  Gates,  and  of  the  recall  of  Abbott  from 
Sackville  —  for  what  reason  they  could  not  tell; 


144  °N  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

they  only  knew  he  had  been  gone  many  weeks, 
taking  the  greater  part  of  the  troop  with  him. 

Clark's  eye  glowed,  his  frame  stiffened  into 
martial  bearing.  Already  he  could  see  the  new 
flag  of  the  colonies,  which  he  had  brought  into 
the  wilderness  for  the  first  time,  floating  proudly 
over  Gates  and  Sackville;  its  thirteen  stripes  of 
snowy  white  and  glowing  red,  emblem  of  the 
blood  which  flowed  to  make  it,  its  barred  blue 
field,  replacing  the  hated  crossbars  of  the  British 
ensign.  Perils,  privations,  and  disasters  faded 
into  nothingness  between  that  event  and  now, 
in  his  sanguine  vision.  Clark  dismissed  the 
hunters,  accepted  Lancaster  as  a  guide,  and  im 
mediately  left  the  island  in  a  fleet  of  canoes, 
with  his  four  companies,  —  one  hundred  and 
fifty-four  men  all  told,  —  as  brave,  even  foolhardy, 
men  as  ever  conquered  empire. 

They  rowed  to  where  the  little  creek  emptied 
into  La  Belle  Riviere,  and  hid  their  boats  a  short 
distance  up  the  stream,  then  set  out  through  the 
intervening  wilderness  to  the  prairie  lying  to  the 
northwest  more  than  a  hundred  miles.  They 
marched  for  a  day  and  a  night,  bivouacking  for 
a  few  hours ;  and  again  for  a  day  and  a  night. 
They  broke  through  briers  and  low  masses  of 
shrubs,  which  filled  the  gaps  of  the  virgin  forest. 


CLARK'S  GUIDE  145 

They  filed  in  a  long  line,  walking  singly  like 
Indians,  and  as  silently  as  the  nature  of  the 
forest  would  permit.  Often  the  way  led  through 
noxious  swamps,  where  long  grasses  grew  decep 
tively,  and  plunged  them  into  black  bogs. 

At  last,  under  the  aureate  glow  of  the  declining 
sun,  the  great  dazzling,  pathless  stretch  of  the 
grand  prairie  lay  before  them,  which  only  ended 
where  the  green  mounted  to  the  yellow  that 
flooded  the  sky.  Too  spent  and  jaded  to  pro 
ceed  farther  that  night,  with  hearts  grateful  for 
so  much  of  shelter,  they  encamped  among  the 
low  shrubs  from  which  they  had  first  beheld  the 
prairie.  They  needed  to  recuperate  their  strength 
by  sleep  for  the  forced  march  across  this  great 
meadow,  exposed  to  the  eye  of  the  haunting 
savage  or  the  lurking  British  spy,  and  with 
thankfulness  they  couched  upon  the  bare  ground 
after  the  frugalest  of  suppers. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  BEWILDERED  " 

IN  the  early  dawn  the  camp  was  aroused  for 
the  hazardous  march,  which  in  a  few  hours,  all 
going  well,  would  bring  them  to  Kaskaskia. 
Rations  were  exhausted  to  a  scrap  of  corn  bread, 
which  each  man  munched  as  he  marched.  They 
plodded  along  till  the  fervor  of  the  July  sun 
became  unpleasantly  felt  as  it  mounted  the  zenith. 
Lancaster  anxiously  scanned  the  far  horizon  and 
the  billowy  stretch  between.  Suddenly  his  look 
changed  from  one  of  easy  confidence  to  faltering 
indecision.  It  was  as  if  his  mind  had  played  him 
the  part  of  a  treacherous  friend.  He  lost  faith. 
Every  landmark  pointed  falsely.  His  brain 
whirled  till  all  sense  of  direction  was  lost  in  the 
motion.  His  soul  was  in  a  tumult  of  distress  and 
anxiety.  With  the  sun  in  mid-heaven  he  could 
not  tell  one  direction  from  another. 

Clark,  sternly  vigilant,  saw  his  confusion  and 
mistrusted  the  cause.  With  English  spies  patrol 
ling  the  waterways,  and  Indian  mercenaries  ready 

146 


"BEWILDERED"  147 

to  spring  from  impossible  ambush,  it  behooved 
men  to  be  cautious  to  the  point  of  suspicion. 
Clark  knew  not  whether  Lancaster's  evident 
anxiety  sprang  from  the  failure  of  his  confederates, 
or  that  confusion  of  mind  which  arises  from  be 
wilderment  at  the  long-continued  sameness  of 
objects.  He  was  a  man  of  patience  when  he 
wished  to  exercise  it,  and  of  the  most  rapid  action 
when  it  suited  his  purpose.  He  remained  silent 
and  wary.  But  his  men,  as  they  watched  Lan 
caster's  wild  glance  wander  round  and  round  in 
dazed  uncertainty,  weary  from  the  three  days' 
march,  irritable  from  hunger,  and  worse  than  all, 
rabid  with  thirst,  began  to  give  signs  of  brutal 
fierceness.  Mutterings  broke  into  upbraidings. 
Scathing  taunts  and  violent  execrations  fell  from 
their  lips.  Their  glaring  eyes,  bloodshot  from  heat 
and  fatigue,  gave  them  a  fierce  aspect.  The  line 
came  to  a  halt,  impatient  as  a  troop  of  stallions. 

"  Why  do  you  not  press  on,  man  ?  "  asked  Clark, 
in  his  ordinary  controlled  manner,  but  keenly 
observing  Lancaster  for  any  attempt  at  betrayal 
by  sight  or  sound. 

"  Well  —  I  fear  —  colonel,  you  will  have  to 
trust  me  till  I  get  my  bearings,"  faltered  Lancaster. 
"  They  seem  to  have  slipped  from  me  until  I  can't 
tell  north  from  south,  nor  east  from  west !  " 


148  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  Has  he  decoyed  us  here  to  have  us  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  Indians?"  asked  Helm,  sus 
piciously,  in  too  loud  an  aside  to  the  commander. 
Instantly  arose  a  tumult  of  savage  censure. 

"Traitor!  traitor !"  cried  Kenton. 

"  Spy !  "  cried  another. 

"  English  minion  !  " 

Inflamed  by  the  obvious  mistrust  of  their 
superiors,  the  rank  and  file  took  it  up  with  venge 
ful  fury.  ,  Guns  were  levelled  at  Lancaster's  breast, 
which  was  a  fair  mark  as  he  stood  facing  them. 
His  face  was  pale  and  anxious,  but  there  was  no 
blenching  in  his  dauntless  mien,  no  cowardice  in 
the  distressed  eyes  raised  fully  to  Clark's  face. 
Had  Clark  shown  a  jot  of  distrust,  the  man  were 
doomed. 

"  You  will  certainly  be  killed,  Lancaster,"  said 
he,  in  an  equable  voice,  u  if  you  have  purposely 
misled  us.  /  could  not  restrain  these  fellows  if 
I  would,"  motioning  his  hand  toward  the  men, 
who  had  fallen  back  at  his  imperious  gesture, 
huddled  like  a  starved  pack,  —  men  who  had  gone 
through  incredible  hardship  without  a  murmur, 
furious  at  the  thought  of  betrayal. 

They  were  indeed  a  savage-looking  lot,  with 
faces  scratched  and  bloody  from  briers,  lashed 
into  welts  from  underbrush,  splashed  with  black 


"BEWILDERED"  149 

bog-mud;  with  moccasins  of  bull-hide  worn 
through,  garments  of  buckskin  tattered.  They 
carried  only  their  long  rifles,  trusting  to  the  forest 
for  shelter,  food,  and  drink.  After  the  first  day 
game  had  been  scarce,  and  they  feared  to  fire  a 
gun,  so  that  they  were  in  a  state  of  ferine  hunger, 
when  men  are  fit  for  murder.  Decoyed  like  ani 
mals  to  ignominious  death,  expecting  momently 
to  be  fallen  upon  by  a  stealthy  foe,  from  any 
quarter,  their  fury  knew  no  bounds.  A  fair  fight 
they  gloried  in,  but  this  —  the  infamy  of  it  made 
them  savage  as  baited  beasts. 

Clark  turned  toward  them,  and  at  a  look  read 
them.  For  an  instant  he  himself  felt  a  flow  of 
rage  that  nearly  choked  him.  But  he  rarely  gave 
his  men  clear  insight  as  to  his  state  of  mind,  or 
motives,  and  he  controlled  it  resolutely,  and  again 
faced  Lancaster. 

There  was  an  expression  of  noble  justice  on  his 
countenance,  and  Lancaster  recognized  that  here 
was  one  who  could  exercise  the  coolest  judgment 
in  the  face  of  most  damnatory  inferences,  suspi 
cions  that  roused  terrible  anger ;  for  Clark's  eyes 
glittered  irefully  while  his  tongue  spoke  fairly. 

Lancaster  fell  upon  his  knees  before  him,  a 
suppliant  who  begged  for  the  preservation  of  his 
honor,  not  for  his  life. 


150  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Clark  was  sensible  of  this  when  Lancaster  cried 
in  earnest,  though  not  grovelling,  entreaty :  — 

"  I  beg  you,  sir,  give  me  one  more  chance !  I 
am  bewildered,  as  many  of  these  men  have  been 
before  me,  on  a  great  prairie." 

He  looked  around  for  some  one  to  take  his  part 
even  in  so  small  a  matter. 

"  That  is  true,  colonel,  as  I  can  bear  witness. 
Give  him  a  chance  to  prove  himself  a  man  of 
honor !  "  said  Simon  Kenton,  always  a  pacific  man, 
yet,  paradoxically,  a  furious  fighter. 

"  That  is  all  I  want !  To  prove  my  honor !  " 
cried  Lancaster. 

"  You  will  prove  your  honor  and  innocence  by 
speedily  finding  the  way,"  said  Clark,  coldly.  "  I 
can  see  that,  by  the  nature  of  the  country,  one 
acquainted  with  it  could  hardly  forget  it,"  —  he 
paused  impressively,  —  "but  I  will  give  you  your 
chance ! " 

Lancaster  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  countenance 
glowing  with  gratitude.  He  looked  Clark  in  the 
face,  and  began  to  speak,  but  was  motioned  to 
silence. 

"  But  you  are  a  doomed  man  if  you  fail ! " 

The  words  were  spoken  with  such  terrible 
finality  that  Lancaster,  unnerved  by  all  he  had 
suffered,  trembled  and  paled.  His  agitation 


"BEWILDERED"  151 

roused  the  placated  suspicions  of  the  men,  who 
again,  by  word  and  look,  urged  his  death. 

"  I  only  beg  you  to  stay  awhile  on  this  spot  — 
that  —  " 

"  The  Indians  may  fall  upon  us  in  three  or  four 
times  our  number  and  massacre  us ! "  interrupted 
a  savage  voice. 

Again  Clark  silenced  them. 

He  said  to  Lancaster:  "The  old  Massac  road 
cannot  be  far  from  here.  Once  find  that,  and  it 
will  lead  us  to  Kaskaskia.  We  will  stay  here 
awhile,  but  not  long." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir !  not  for  my  life's  but  for 
my  honor's  sake.  I  will  set  off  at  once ! " 

"  Not  so  fast !  Not  alone !  "  observed  Clark,  a 
faint  saturnine  smile  on  his  lips.  "  Here,  Allen, 
Bush,  Hays  !  "  he  ordered.  "  Accompany  this 
man,  and  if  by  sundown  he  has  not  found  the 
way,  you  will  know  your  duty  —  how  to  serve  a 
traitor ! " 

The  guards  named  stepped  forward,  —  young, 
stalwart,  fierce,  with  menace  in  their  looks  which 
did  not  serve  to  restore  Lancaster's  already  over- 
shaken  confidence. 

"  My  life,  sir,  I  will  willingly  forfeit.  I  will  find 
the  trail  by  evening !  " 

"  Lead  on,  sir !  "  sternly  commanded  Clark. 


152  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

They  watched  Lancaster  as  he  scanned  the  sky 
and  took  his  bearings  by  the  sun,  now  a  little 
declined  toward  the  west,  which  was  in  his  favor. 
He  started  toward  the  north,  then  irresolutely 
took  an  angling  line  to  the  southwest,  followed  it 
uncertainly  a  few  paces ;  shifted  again  to  the 
northwest ;  veered  again  till  he  had  completed  a 
circle,  and  thus  progressed  in  visible  uncertainty, 
closely  dogged  by  his  guards,  till  they  became 
mere  dots  on  the  great  sea  of  grass,  now  lost  in 
the  falling  billow,  then  rising  to  view  on  the  crest. 
Suddenly  he  changed  again,  seeming  to  have 
thrown  off  all  hesitation,  and  proceeded  steadily 
to  the  southwest. 

Meanwhile  Clark  and  his  men  watched  anx 
iously  and  silently.  Now  and  then  some  one 
cursed  bitterly  as  he  saw  Lancaster's  uncertainty. 
Some  one  laughed,  —  a  more  sinister  sound  than 
all  the  cursing ! 

"The  man  is  a  traitor!"  cried  Helm,  with 
frightful  imprecations. 

"  I  think  not ! "  replied  Kenton,  composedly. 
"  He  is  only  bewildered  !  " 

"  Time  and  patience  will  tell.  We  may  as 
well  rest  during  the  hours  we  must  wait !  "  said 
Clark,  coolly.  After  appointing  a  sentry,  he  threw 
himself  full  length  on  the  earth,  placed  an  arm 


"BEWILDERED"  153 

over  his  eyes,  and  composed  himself  as  if  it  were 
the  most  ordinary  bed-going.  In  a  few  moments 
all  followed  his  example,  and  were  soon  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  sound,  healthy,  weary  men. 

Two  hours  passed  like  two  seconds  to  the 
jaded  sleepers,  when  the  guard  gave  a  low,  pecul 
iar  cry,  at  which  all  started  up.  Confused  with 
sleep,  they  snatched  their  knives  from  their  belts, 
cocked  their  guns  before  the  film  of  slumber  had 
lifted  from  their  angry  eyes.  Their  vision  cleared 
to  behold  four  men  approaching  rapidly,  success 
attested  to  by  the  buoyancy  of  their  walk. 

Approaching  Clark,  Lancaster  said  with  visible 
satisfaction,  "Sir,  I  have  found  the  old  Massac 
road !  " 

"  Fall  in ! "  was  Clark's  sole  answer,  but  it 
implied  how  full  was  his  faith. 

In  two  hours'  march  they  came  upon  a  huge 
beech  tree,  the  outpost  of  a  sparse  stretch  of 
woods  that  followed  a  small  stream.  They  found 
buried  deep  in  its  overgrown  bark  an  iron  plate 
on  which,  in  faded  red  figures,  were  numbered 
the  miles  to  Kaskaskia. 

When  the  moon  rose,  like  a  pearl  disk,  and  the 
great  red  sun  dropped  suddenly  from  the  arching 
rim  of  the  prairie,  they  were  in  sight  of  Fort 
Gage,  in  the  village  of  Kaskaskia. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

CLARK    AND    FATHER    GIBAULT 

SILENTLY  as  ghosts,  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
night,  the  little  army  was  ferried  across  the  nar 
row  river.  They  were  divided  into  squads  and 
deployed  about  the  town.  Without  a  struggle 
Rochblave,  the  commandant,  was  captured  in  his 
bed  and  yielded  up  the  garrison  to  the  Virginians. 
The  capture  of  the  neighboring  French  villages, 
Cahokia  and  Prairie  du  Rocher,  followed,  and  in 
less  than  a  fortnight  every  villager  had  sworn 
allegiance  to  the  Americans,  and  Clark  was  in 
command  of  the  fort.  It  was  too  easy  a  conquest. 
In  this  tame  submission  there  was  no  element  of 
victory ;  and  Clark  could  not  be  content  till  the 
flag  of  the  colonies  floated  over  Sackville  on  the 
distant  Ouibache. 

Pondering  these  things  in  the  privacy  of  his 
quarters,  one  day,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  three  men,  ushered  in  by  his  second 
officer,  Helm. 

Clark  received  them  in  a  manner  of  guarded 
154 


CLARK   AND   FATHER  GIBAULT  155 

friendliness.  They  were  Father  Gibault,  the 
Jesuit  priest  whose  curacy  extended  over  most  of 
the  Illinois  country ;  Dr.  La  Fitte,  the  largest 
trafficker  among  the  savages,  besides  being  the 
only  medical  man  thereabout ;  and  an  interpreter. 

Clark  waited  courteously  for  them  to  disclose 
their  errand  through  their  interpreter,  Lieutenant 
Gerault,  about  which  they  seemed  to  be  timid. 
Father  Gibault's  spare  figure,  ascetic  face,  and 
priestly  garb  were  in  striking  contrast  to  the  huge 
frame,  strong,  tanned  visage,  and  tattered,  muddy 
garments  of  his  host.  Clark  looked  almost  burly 
and  quite  savage  in  comparison. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  sir,"  said  the  priest,  and 
a  shade  of  anxiety  was  disclosed  in  his  manner, 
though  his  voice  was  smooth  and  pleasantly  mod 
ulated.  In  the  presence  of  the  strong  worldling 
he  had  an  air  of  timorousness  suggestive  of  the 
cloister. 

Clark  expressed  his  pleasure  at  meeting  his  vis 
itors  with  the  ready  courtesy  of  the  Virginian, 
but  did  not  help  them  by  further  speech.  He 
seemed  silently  gauging  their  faithfulness. 

"  It  may  be  unwise  to  speak  of  it,"  said  the 
priest,  hesitantly,  "but  we  have  heard  a  rumor 
that  you  intend  to  advance  on  O  Poste." 

"  I  intend  no  less  !  and  it  is  about  that   I  wish 


156  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

to  consult  you,"  answered  Clark,  in  his  crisp, 
imperious  voice. 

He  was  not  surprised  at  Father  Gibault's  dis 
closure,  for  he  had  made  no  secret  of  his  aims, 
after  Kaskaskia  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance. 
He  shrewdly  put  the  villagers  on  their  honor  by 
trusting  them  at  once.  He  openly  avowed  his 
intention  to  retake  the  French  towns  in  the  Illi 
nois  country  from  the  English,  and  add  them,  as 
well  as  the  vast  territory  itself  to  the  colony  of 
Virginia.  His  commission,  he  told  them,  was 
granted  him  by  the  great  Patrick  Henry. 

"  Give  me  your  opinion,"  continued  Clark,  "  as 
briefly  as  you  can,  for  I  have  but  half  an  hour 
at  your  disposal." 

Father  Gibault  was  a  curious  mixture  of  tim 
idity —  inseparable  from  a  compassionate  nature 
—  and  the  finest  courage.  He  was  easily  abashed 
by  arrogance  and  despotism,  and  his  instinct  was 
to  withdraw  in  a  contest  with  haughty  authority  or 
brute  force,  such  as  Clark  rarely  used,  but  used 
unsparingly  if  the  necessity  arose. 

"  Sir,"  said  Father  Gibault,  with  his  dark  eyes 
fixed  wistfully  on  Clark's  large  immobile  face,  which 
he  could  make  as  blank  and  forbidding  as  a  naked 
cliff,  "  we  have  found  you  to  be  a  humane  man. 
We  have  been  taught  for  many  years  that  the 


CLARK  AND   FATHER  GIBAULT  157 

American  is  as  savage  as  the  Indian,  and  that  to 
fall  into  his  hands  would  be  a  far  worse  fate ;  but 
we  have  found  it  to  be  false.  You  have  been  just, 
even  kind,  in  your  dealings  with  us,  your  captives. 
No !  we  are  not  captives ;  we  are  brothers,  for  as 
such  you  have  treated  us  ! " 

During  this  discourse  Clark  sat  with  down 
cast  eyes,  but  from  time  to  time  shot  a  speculative 
glance  at  the  priest.  The  quivering  lip,  suffusing 
eye,  tremulous  tones,  convinced  him  this  was  not 
a  piece  of  French  acting. 

"  Sir,"  Clark  said  abruptly,  "  I  see  you  have 
something  weighty  on  your  mind  ;  be  pleased  to 
disclose  it." 

His  demand  seemed  harshly  put,  in  a  voice  of  en 
ergetic  volume,  and  in  violent  contrast  to  the  fine 
manner  of  the  priest,  who  started  like  a  horse  roughly 
drawn  up  by  a  cutting  bit.  But  he  controlled  his 
emotion  and  complied  calmly  and  collectedly. 

"What  I,  and  my  friend  here,  Dr.  La  Fitte, 
would  suggest  is,  that  you  charge  us  with  the 
duty  of  bringing  our  friends  on  the  Ouibache 
into  allegiance  with  the  Americans.  Depute  it 
to  us,  that  life  may  be  spared,  and  much  hardship 
and  danger  to  you  be  saved." 

"How  do  you  propose  to  accomplish  this?" 
asked  Clark,  completely  surprised,  yet  interested. 


158  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  I  will  have  naught  to  do  with  the  temporal 
part.  My  friend  here  will  manage  that;  but  I 
can  convey  such  suggestions  in  a  spiritual  way 
as  will  facilitate  the  business." 

"  They  are  your  spiritual  charge,  and  you  pro 
pose  to  make  your  office  a  means  to  this  end  ?  " 
observed  Clark,  musingly,  his  great  sunburned 
fingers  drumming  nervously  on  the  table,  —  the 
only  sign  of  perturbation  he  gave. 

"Yes!"  assented  the  priest,  "what  means  so 
potent?  They  are  my  people,  both  spiritually 
and  nationally.  Even  the  Piankeshaws,  dwelling 
across  the  river  in  their  village,  are  my  converts." 

A  sneering  expression  passed  over  Clark's 
countenance ;  for  he,  in  common  with  all  pio 
neers,  believed  in  the  conversion  of  savages 
about  as  he  did  in  that  of  a  skulking  wolf. 

"  In  brief,  you  would  coerce  by  spiritual  means ; 
while  I  would  employ  lead  and  gunpowder !  Per 
haps,  in  this  case,  yours  is  the  better  way,  if  it  can 
be  done.  If  not,  then  mine !  "  he  said  positively. 

Dr.  La  Fitte,  who  had  remained  silent  up  to 
this  time,  now  spoke  confidently :  — 

"  It  will  not  fail,  colonel !  You  do  not  know 
how  the  people  love  our  good  father.  Nor  do 
you  know  how  they  hate  the  British,  their  con 
temptuous  masters,  their  hereditary  foemen!" 


CLARK  AND   FATHER   GIBAULT  159 

Hitherto  La  Fitte  had  not  taken  part  in  the 
conference.  Clark  turned  to  him,  surveyed  him 
deliberately,  and  appeared  to  be  convinced  as  to 
his  integrity.  His  bearing  changed  toward  both 
men  to  something  like  guarded  cordiality,  and 
for  a  time  they  conferred  earnestly  together, 
Clark  asking,  they  answering  questions. 

He  decided  to  accept  their  proffer  of  help,  and, 
in  English,  rapidly  dictated  an  order  to  Lieuten 
ant  Gerault;  who,  when  he  had  turned  it  into 
French,  read  it  aloud  to  the  priest  and  doctor. 
In  the  presence  of  the  three  it  was  signed  by 
Clark. 

It  was  an  address  to  the  villagers  at  O  Poste, 
demanding  that  they  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
to  the  Americans  ;  and  authorizing  them  to  invest 
the  fort  with  their  own  militia,  which  was  some 
two  hundred  strong;  and  permitting  them  to 
choose  from  their  own  number  the  commandant 
of  the  village  and  post.  Thus  appealing  to  their 
pride  and  fealty. 

"  I  will  make  no  doubt  of  their  joyful  submis 
sion,"  said  Father  Gibault,  "and  I  will  privately 
direct  the  whole  affair.  If  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  I 
will  take  this  upon  myself,  aided  by  my  trusted 
lieutenant,  the  doctor  here." 

"Sir,   as   a   Frenchman    I   have  the  strongest 


l6o  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

faith  in  your  loyalty  to  the  American  cause ;  as  a 
priest,  entire  confidence  in  your  probity ! "  Clark 
observed  with  solemn  earnestness,  which,  in  the 
light  of  later  proceedings,  seemed  bombastic. 
He  completed  his  arrangements  with  military 
despatch,  and  no  sooner  were  they  done,  than  he 
signified  to  his  guests  that  the  conference  was  at 
an  end. 

When  they  had  retired,  he  sent  for  Lancaster, 
who,  on  his  appearance,  found  Clark  deep  in 
meditation,  from  which  he  did  not  rouse  him,  but 
stood  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

Clark  began  abruptly,  "So,  my  lad,  I  cannot 
prevail  upon  you  to  join  my  army !  "  with  a  quiz 
zical  smile  at  its  size  and  his  sore  need  of  men. 

"Sir,  I  have  already  told  you  that  my  one 
thought,  the  only  one  I  am  capable  of  entertain 
ing,  is  to  find  certain  news  of  the  fate  of  my  lost 
sweetheart." 

"  My  boy,  I  fear  the  worst  awaits  you." 

"  But  I  must  know !  I  cannot  give  up  till  I 
do  know ! "  Lancaster's  lips  set  firmly,  his  eyes 
stared  straight  before  him  as  if  he  saw  the  ter 
rible  end  of  his  quest. 

Clark,  gazing  at  him,  communed  with  himself: 
"  Strange,  this  passion  that  despoils  a  man  of 
ambition,  of  hope,  of  life !  I  once  felt  it  briefly, 


CLARK   AND   FATHER  GIBAULT  l6l 

but  a  moment  of  cowardice  in  the  object,  ended 
it  for  me !  A  good  soldier  spoiled !  Pity ! 
Pity!" 

He  looked  half  angry  as  he  beheld  the  havoc 
made  in  the  strong,  perfect  youth  before  him, — 
sunken  cheeks ;  dull  eyes ;  breathing  eager  and 
quick,  or  so  slow  the  lungs  all  but  collapsed; 
frame  lacerated  and  shrunken,  —  all  for  an  abstrac 
tion  called  Love !  He  himself  held  as  hot  a 
passion  of  another  kind,  Patriotism ;  and  his 
ardor  was  so  great,  his  hate  so  strong,  he  saw 
no  obstacle  to  the  capture  of  the  Illinois  country, 
which  would  add  to  the  glory  of  Virginia.  It 
was  nothing  to  him  that  his  army  was  less 
than  two  hundred  strong,  that  every  post  was 
garrisoned,  and  that  mercenary  savages  were 
in  ambush  everywhere. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  is  the  way  of  man,  but  a 
way  I  have  missed ! "  he  muttered ;  then  said 
aloud,  "  My  lad,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 
Lancaster  looked  sullenly  at  him,  and  Clark 
laughed,  then  said:  — 

"  It  will  not  hinder  you  in  this  wild  business 
of  yours !  Nay,  it  will  help  you  on  to  the 
Ouibache,  and  from  there  you  can  more  easily 
follow  the  Puans  to  their  village  under  the  very 
walls  of  the  fortress  at  Detroit.  But  be  sly  as 


1 62  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

a  weasel,  brave  as  a  panther,  for  the  bloody  belt 
has  been  sent  round !  " 

Lancaster's  gloomy  face  brightened.  "  If  I  can 
be  of  use  to  you,  sir,  I  am  always  your  grateful 
servant.  As  to  the  bloody  belt,  —  how  could  I 
think  otherwise !  " 

Clark  explained  the  embassy  of  Father  Gibault 
and  the  doctor,  and  said  that  he  must  have  a 
faithful  report  of  their  proceedings.  On  Lancas 
ter's  showing  irritation  at  the  thought  of  the 
delay  in  again  returning  to  Kaskaskia,  Clark 
cried  impatiently :  — 

"  Oh,  these  lovers !  Would  to  God  there  were 
none  !  They  hold  but  one  thought !  They  spoil 
good  soldiers !  You  do  not  know  my  plan,  Lan 
caster.  It  is  that  you  never  lose  sight  of  the 
priest  and  doctor  during  these  negotiations ; 
that  you  write  me  a  full  report,  and  tuck  it 
secretly  in  the  saddle-bags  of  Jonathan  Poole,  — 
the  dullest  of  fellows, — a  guard  who  will  ac 
company  the  expedition.  I  myself  will  search 
there  for  it." 

Lancaster  gave  his  promise,  then  said :  "  I  am 
sensible,  sir,  of  the  honor  of  your  confidence,  and 
if  my  search  end  disastrously,  I  vow  to  devote 
the  rest  of  my  days  to  fighting  these  cursed  Eng 
lish  !  So  help  me  Heaven ! " 


CLARK  AND   FATHER  GIBAULT  163 

"  Right  spirit,  my  lad  !  Come  back  to  me  !  I 
have  need  of  men  of  your  mettle !  " 

The  next  morning,  —  just  ten  days  after  the 
capture  of  Kaskaskia,  —  Father  Gibault  and 
Dr.  La  Fitte  set  out  for  O  Poste  with  a  small 
retinue,  among  whom  was  Lancaster,  on  a  mis 
sion  whose  importance  they  could  not  foresee. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

A    CHANGE    OF    ALLEGIANCE 

THE  two  days'  journey  to  O  Poste  was  made 
safely,  under  the  most  favorable  conditions.  The 
little  convoy  was  well  armed.  Even  the  good 
father  was  equipped  with  a  gun,  and  two  pistols 
were  thrust  through  his  rawhide  belt,  —  an  unusual 
addition  to  his  black  frock,  and  much  at  variance 
with  his  pacific  character. 

The  villagers  were  greatly  surprised  to  see 
Father  Gibault  so  soon  again  after  his  May  visi 
tation, —  a  duty  he  was  accustomed  to  perform 
about  twice  a  year,  —  but  they  greeted  him  with 
incurious  pleasure.  They  supposed  he  had  come 
on  some  pressing  parochial  matter  which  did  not 
concern  them. 

The  coming  of  Dr.  La  Fitte  they  regarded  as 
a  fortuitous  circumstance  indeed.  Every  bruised 
member,  every  fever,  every  megrim  of  whatever 
kind,  was  reported  to  him  at  once,  with  moving 
confidence,  as  if  there  were  virtue  in  the  very 
touch  of  his  garments.  At  other  times  they 

164 


A  CHANGE  OF  ALLEGIANCE  165 

depended  on  the  aged  medicine-man  of  the  Pian- 
keshaws,  or  on  the  doubtful  services  of  the  herb- 
doctress  and  midwife,  'Stasia  Lutrell.  This  chance 
was  too  good  to  be  lost ! 

It  was  soon  noised  abroad  that  there  would  be 
matins  at  the  little  log  church  at  sun-up  the  next 
day.  The  morning  rose  fair  and  beautiful,  with 
that  plenitude  of  sparkling  dew  and  rapturous  bird- 
song  sacred  to  the  dawning,  —  that  cool,  sweet, 
purified  air,  that  restful  quietude  so  soon  profaned 
and  disquieted  by  the  progress  of  the  hours. 

The  fervid  sun  of  mid  July  had  hardly  returned 
from  its  night  journey.  Its  first  long,  level  shafts 
shot  across  the  asparagus  bed,  whose  bending 
plumes  were  overweighted  by  the  scintillating 
drops  that  hung  on  its  every  filament.  It  was 
the  glory  of  Colonel  Dubois's  dooryard. 

Ferriby,  who  sat  at  breakfast  opposite  the  open 
window,  could  see  the  humming-bird  dive  into  its 
dewy  bath,  and  she  thought  she  had  never  beheld 
anything  more  beautiful  than  the  glittering  mound 
of  green. 

The  entire  family  were  at  their  morning  meal, 
and  were  disposing  of  it  in  silence. 

"  It  is  strange  that  Father  Gibault  should  come 
in  this  sudden  manner,  without  notice,  I  think." 


1 66  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

spoke  out  thoughtless  Suzanne,  who  was  listlessly 
eating  her  breakfast  of  grilled  venison,  bread,  and 
red  currants. 

Her  father,  who  had  secretly  indulged  in  the 
same  opinion,  thought  it  proper  to  observe 
loftily,  — 

"  Men  of  weighty  affairs  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
confiding  serious  matters  to  females." 

She  made  a  sly  grimace  at  demure  Jeanne 
across  the  table,  and  whispered  roguishly  to 
Ferriby  at  her  side :  — 

"  Neither  do  the  females  always  take  the  males 
into  theirs.  Hein  ?  " 

"  But,  father  dear,  he  was  here  so  shortly. 
Why  come  again  so  soon  ? "  Suzanne  insisted. 

She  hit  upon  the  very  thing  the  colonel  was 
most  curious  to  know,  but  it  was  beneath  his 
dignity  to  expose  so  feminine  a  weakness  before 
his  woman-kind,  who  happened,  at  that  time,  to 
constitute  his  entire  household.  He  made  no 
reply. 

"  Angele  can  be  baptized,"  observed  Jeanne, 
softly. 

"  True ! "  cried  Monsieur  Dubois.  "  It  is  well 
thought,  my  Jeanne !  " 

"It  will  save  the  soul  of  another  heretic,"  she 
murmured  piously. 


A  CHANGE  OF  ALLEGIANCE  167 

Ferriby,  who  comprehended  little  that  was 
said,  knew  by  that  peculiar  mental  sensitiveness 
with  which  women  are  endowed,  that  she  was  the 
subject  of  their  conversation ;  moreover  she  had 
caught  the  name  "  Angele  "  which  they  had  given 
her  when  she  first  became  an  inmate  of  their 
home. 

As  yet  nothing  had  been  learned  of  her  par 
entage,  nor  anything  of  her  former  life.  She  was 
a  nameless,  homeless  waif  of  the  Great  Wilder 
ness.  She  had  roused  from  her  long  stupor  with 
a  memory  blank  as  a  new-born  babe's,  and  while 
mentality  was  strengthening  daily,  this  lapse  had 
not  been  bridged.  Father  Gibault  and  the  doctor 
had  warned  them  not  to  hurry  its  development, 
as  it  might,  in  her  weak  state,  end  in  the  per 
manent  overthrow  of  reason.  As  both  brain  and 
body  had  been  exhausted  to  a  point  not  far  from 
death,  she  must,  like  a  babe,  grow  gradually  into 
both  mental  and  physical  strength. 

In  the  last  few  weeks  they  had  commenced  to 
teach  her  like  a  little  child,  and  she  had  picked 
up  rapidly  the  meaning  of  commonly  used  words 
from  the  chatter  of  Suzanne  and  Jeanne,  her  new 
name  among  them. 

Proud  indeed  were  the  demoiselles  of  their 
charge,  when,  about  a  week  since,  she  was  well 


1 68  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

enough  to  appear  at  table  with  the  family,  and 
could  hesitatingly  speak  their  names,  as  well  as 
"pere,"  to  monsieur,  their  father;  and  "  maman," 
to  madame,  their  mother. 

Her  whole  nature  was  expanding  slowly,  much 
as  a  sensitive  plant  erects  each  foliole  after  rough 
handling,  to  at  last  become  strong  and  symmetri 
cal  as  before. 

But  at  times  lassitude  would  weigh  her  down, 
as  if  all  the  strength  meant  for  a  long  life  had 
been  consumed  in  those  fearful  days  of  wandering. 
Sometimes  she  would  steal  away  to  the  garden- 
seat,  and  ponder  alone,  in  piteous  effort  to  recall 
—  what?  She  could  not  tell  —  a  natant  some 
thing  that  troubled  her  and  made  her  uneasy. 

She  would  sink  into  moods  of  apathy  from 
which  nothing  roused  her  till  they  had  run 
their  course.  Her  high  courage  and  noble 
spirit  were  gone ;  she  was  as  dependent  as  a 
child. 

The  shrill  shouts  of  the  boys  in  the  great  pas 
ture,  tending  the  cows,  threw  her  into  an  alarm 
she  could  not  control  nor  explain.  Suzanne  tried 
by  every  light,  gay  frolic  she  could  devise  to 
hearten  her;  and  Jeanne,  by  tenderest  sympathy, 
to  soothe  her,  until  they  awakened  feelings  of 
gratitude  and  trust  to  reward  their  efforts ;  and 


A  CHANGE  OF   ALLEGIANCE  169 

they  were  encouraged  to  believe  in  her  ultimate 
return  to  her  normal  state. 

By  seven  o'clock  the  entire  family  were  on  their 
way  to  mass,  except  Angele,  who  was  thought  too 
feeble  to  go.  The  stillness  of  the  morning  was 
so  unbroken  it  seemed  as  if  Nature  was  bent  on 
hearing  the  orisons  of  these  good  people  who 
eagerly  sought  the  little  church  to  engage  in  their 
devotions.  Their  joy  in  it  was  moving,  so  far 
from  storied  minster  or  imposing  cathedral, 
which  are  in  themselves  an  inspiration  to  worship. 
The  church  stood  east  of  the  fort  and  in  front  of 
it,  only  a  few  yards  from  the  heavy  puncheon 
gates.  On  the  flagstaff  of  Sackville  flew  the 
British  flag,  and  in  the  score  of  years  it  had 
waved  above  them  it  had  never  become  a  grateful 
sight  to  these  Frenchmen. 

The  little  building  was  made  of  hewn  timbers 
set  on  end.  There  were  no  windows  in  it,  and  a 
door  at  either  end  always  stood  open  to  let  in  day 
light.  Its  roof  was  of  clapboards;  its  floor  of 
earth ;  its  seats,  few  in  number,  were  of  heavy 
slabs,  supported  on  pegs  driven  into  the  ground. 
There  was  no  way  of  heating,  and  it  was  rarely 
used  in  winter,  as  the  road  was  impassable  be 
tween  Kaskaskia  and  O  Poste.  As  soon  as 
might  be,  the  faithful  priest  came  to  them  in  the 


I/O  ON   THE   WE- A   TRAIL 

spring.  He  longed  for  the  time  when  the  donne 
would  in  some  measure  be  a  spiritual  shepherd 
to  them. 

On  this  radiant  July  morning  the  sun  flooded 
the  little  edifice,  and  lit  the  interior  so  brightly 
that  the  two  candles  were  dimmed  on  the  smooth 
block  of  wood  cut  from  a  forest  tree  which  served 
for  an  altar.  At  the  church  door  stood  sentries. 
Within,  Father  Gibault  was  ready  to  conduct  the 
service,  clad  in  the  plain  black  robe  of  his  order, 
with  no  glittering  canonicals,  no  lace  vestments, 
no  embroidered  cope,  to  enrich  the  scene.  He  was 
a  humble  paraphrast  for  Jesu  the  Christ,  not  a 
richly  dressed  puppet.  Only  one  acolyte  attended 
him,  Gaston  Bevard,  who  ministered  sullenly  and 
perfunctorily. 

"  He  hath  a  devil !  "  murmured  Manette  Tache, 
pausing  in  her  devotions  to  watch  the  priest's 
pupil.  "  Is  he  not  part  savage  ?  Yes ;  I  will 
pray  the  more  for  him ! "  and  she  diligently 
resumed  her  prayers. 

Hark !  the  sonorous  Latin  of  the  monks  peals 
out  with  as  grand  simplicity,  as  deep  solemnity 
in  this  humble  sunlit  sanctuary  as  in  the  long, 
dim,  vaulted  vistas  of  St.  Peter's. 

"Ave,  Maria,  gratia  plena  ;  Dominus  tecum  : 
benedicta  tu  in  mulieribus, 


A   CHANGE  OF  ALLEGIANCE  I /I 

et  benedictus  fructus  ventris  tui, 

Jesus.     Sancta  Maria,  Mater  Dei,  ora  pro  nobis 

peccatoribus,  nunc  et  in  hora  mortis  nostrse.     Amen." 

It  rolls  in  dulcet  syllables  across  the  prairie  till 
lost  in  the  hum  of  insect  life;  it  is  borne  to  the 
dark  forest  by  the  warm  breeze  to  fall  silent 
among  the  murmuring  of  cool  leaves.  Who  may 
know  how  potent  for  good  this  ministry  ?  —  how 
far  these  faint  tones  reached  ? 

Lancaster,^  mindful  of  his  trust,  found  an 
obscure  coign  of  vantage,  and  looked  on  in  sur 
prise  at  the  simple  earnestness  and  joy  of  these 
people  at  the  chance  of  taking  part  in  the  rites  of 
their  religion. 

The  service  had  proceeded  in  pious  solemnity 
to  its  close.  The  benediction  had  been  said ;  the 
congregation  stirred  cheerfully  to  depart,  when 
Father  Gibault  by  a  gesture  commanded  their 
attention.  He  stepped  to  the  floor  below  the 
rude  altar  and  requested  silence. 

"  My  children,"  he  said,  "  I  would  have  a  few 
words  with  you  before  you  depart  to  your  homes. 
You  well  know  that  sixteen  years  ago  you 
resigned  allegiance  to  our  most  gracious  and  sov 
ereign  majesty  Louis  XV ;  since  then  we  have 
lived  under  the  rule  of  the  king  of  England. 
Now  there  is  another  authority,  which,  if  you  will, 


1/2  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

may  be  set  over  you.  It  is  concerning  this  our 
good  doctor  would  have  your  attention." 

There  was  a  rustling  of  re-seating,  and  all 
eyes  were  fastened  on  La  Fitte,  who  came  to 
Father  Gibault's  side,  and  at  once  began 
speaking :  — 

"  My  good  friends  and  compatriots :  What  our 
reverend  father  says  is  true,  and  he  himself 
heartily  indorses  what  I  would  tell  you.  Is  it 
not  so  ? "  he  said,  turning  to  the  priest.  Father 
Gibault  nodded  an  assent,  gravely,  from  the 
bench  where  he  had  seated  himself.  His  habit 
ually  eager  face  was  set  in  serious,  even  austere, 
lines.  His  dark  eyes  watched  his  people  as  if  to 
note  each  fluctuation  of  feeling,  each  change  of 
opinion,  as  it  passed  over  their  mobile  faces. 
His  cheeks,  pale  and  hollow,  grew  paler  with  the 
gravity  of  the  issue.  His  flock  were  emotional, 
readily  responsive,  as  none  knew  better  than 
himself,  and  if  the  wrong  chord  were  struck,  dis 
sonance,  harsh  and  brutal,  would  result. 

Dr.  La  Fitte  seemingly  felt  that  a  great 
responsibility  lay  upon  him,  that  the  outcome 
would  be  determined  by  the  subtlety  and  power 
of  his  plea ;  and  for  an  instant  he  paused  as 
if  seeking  for  a  telling  opening  sentence.  He 
began  where  the  priest  left  off:  — 


A  CHANGE  OF  ALLEGIANCE  173 

"  Yes ;  the  flag  of  our  fathers  no  longer  floats 
over  their  children ;  but  that  of  aliens,  never 
friendly ! "  The  men's  faces  showed  surprise, 
and  something  of  consternation. 

"  But  now,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  we  will 
change  all  that."  Then  he  rapidly  told  them  of 
the  capture  of  Kaskaskia,  Cahokia,  and  Prairie 
du  Rocher,  by  the  handful  of  Virginians  under 
Clark ;  and  how  the  Americans,  now  waging  war 
against  the  British,  were  meeting  with  success 
at  arms.  "  For  Burgoyne  surrendered  in  Octo 
ber,  now  nearly  a  year  past." 

This  news  they  heard  for  the  first  time,  and  it 
caused  a  sensation.  Men  turned  and  looked  at 
each  other. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  speaker,  "  the  Virgin 
ians  ask  you  to  join  them  in  this  fight  for  liberty, 
not  as  aliens,  not  as  subjects,  but  as  citizens! 
Sharing  in  all  their  privileges,  and  with  the 
right  to  govern  yourselves.  Our  beloved  reli 
gion,  Colonel  Clark  has  said,  would  be  defended 
from  insult.  And  under  the  laws  of  Virginia, 
to  which  this  vast  Illinois  country  '  will  be 
attached,  yours  will  be  the  rights  and  privileges 
of  freemen.  Declare  yourselves,  once  for  all. 
Be  no  longer  humble  captives,  but  free  men. 
Swear  your  allegiance  to  this  new  republic,  that 


1/4  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

will  make  you  free  citizens,  which,  as  there  is  a 
God  in  heaven,  is  coming  —  is  here  !  " 

The  excitement  grew  steadily  as  the  speech 
reached  the  climax.  Men  sprang  to  their  feet. 
They  questioned  each  other  silently,  with  earnest 
looks.  Like  a  stone  at  the  turn  of  the  hilltop, 
they  needed  but  a  start  to  crash  through  all  im 
pediments  to  new  ground.  Only  a  few  held 
back  timidly.  A  voice  from  the  crowd  —  that 
potent  voice  from  a  crowd  —  asked:  — 

"  Father  Gibault,  do  you  sanction  this  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  answered  the  priest,  firmly,  rising  to  his 
feet.  "  And  I  invoke  the  blessing  of  the  good 
God  and  all  his  saints  upon  every  one  who  has 
the  courage  to  swear  allegiance  to  the  Americans 
on  the  Holy  Book ;  and  I  absolve  them  from 
their  oath  to  the  English  king." 

He  held  his  missal  aloft.  For  one  instant  of  tre 
mendous  feeling,  of  utter  stillness,  when  men's  hearts 
beat  loud,  their  eyes  burned,  their  lips  dried,  they 
waited.  The  next,  and  Colonel  Dubois  went  for 
ward  to  take  the  oath  ;  then  the  people  pushed  and 
crowded  each  other,  in  their  eagerness  to  follow. 

Lancaster  beheld  this  scene  but  little  moved ; 
for  no  enthusiasm  was  hot  enough  to  melt  his 
frozen  melancholy;  but  he  gave  a  conscientious 
report  of  it  to  Clark  in  his  despatch. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE    APPARITION 

IMMEDIATELY  after  the  dismissal  of  the  congre 
gation,  Father  Gibault  made  use  of  the  opportu 
nity  to  call  a  meeting  of  the  men  at  the  tavern  to 
discuss  the  generous  measures  of  Clark ;  chief 
articles  of  which  were,  that  they  select  a  com 
mandant,  and  garrison  the  post  with  the  local 
militia. 

Without  a  moment's  consideration  of  the 
results  of  their  defection  from  the  king,  braced 
for  the  deed  by  the  good  father's  absolution, 
they  lost  no  time  in  making  their  choice.  It  fell 
upon  Monsieur  Dubois,  and  the  office  invested 
him  with  the  highest  authority,  both  civil  and 
military.  This  business  happily  over,  Father 
Gibault,  Dr.  La  Fitte,  and  Colonel  Dubois 
left  them,  —  a  company  of  some  two  hundred 
men,  —  roused  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement, 
pledging  fealty  to  the  Americans ;  to  the  new 
flag  of  the  colonies  (which  would  soon  replace 
the  British  colors,  when  Clark  should  arrive,  or 

'75 


ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

some  officer  delegated  by  him  to  take  command 
of  the  fort) ;  to  the  governor  of  Virginia ;  to 
anything  for  an  excuse  for  a  toast  and  a  huge 
dram  of  taffia. 

These  three  gentlemen  retired  to  the  home  of 
Colonel  Dubois,  where  they  held  a  private  consul 
tation.  There  never  was  a  mob,  however  violent, 
nor  a  crowd,  however  orderly,  that  were  not  the 
puppets  of  two  or  three  string-pullers,  who,  when 
all  is  set  in  motion  to  their  liking,  slip  away  to 
watch  their  antics  quietly  and  enjoy  results 
ultimately. 

Colonel  Dubois  showed  his  guests  into  the 
grande  chambre.  The  adjoining  room,  uncon 
nected  by  door,  was  the  cabinet  which  Ferriby 
still  occupied,  not  having  sufficient  strength 
to  climb  the  stairway,  and  share  the  apart 
ments  of  the  demoiselles  Dubois.  She  had 
spent  many  hours  of  weakness  and  depression  on 
the  low  couch  opposite  the  open  window,  which 
looked  out  over  the  same  stretch  of  grass  that 
the  parlor  window  commanded.  The  two  were 
set  very  close  together,  so  that  an  immense 
Guelder-rose  bush  that  grew  between  shaded 
both.  Its  restless  twigs  tapped  mysteriously  on 
the  window-panes,  when  the  sash  was  down,  and 
flaunted  inquisitively  into  the  room,  as  now,  when 


THE  APPARITION  1 77 

it  was  raised.  It  formed  an  arching  bower  that 
screened  her  from  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun, 
and  let  the  air  through,  blandly  cooled  by  its 
foliage.  On  the  other  side  of  the  casement 
clambered  a  Noisette  rose  which,  in  flowering- 
time,  scented  the  apartment  sweetly. 

Jeanne  was  reading  aloud  to  Ferriby  from  the 
life  of  Saint  Genevieve,  more  to  soothe  than  to 
edify  her,  for  her  knowledge  was  too  limited  to 
comprehend  much  of  the  smooth  French ;  but  it 
quieted  her  to  hear  Jeanne's  soft  monotone.  In 
the  pauses  when  the  reader  stopped  to  spell  out 
some  hard  word,  the  low,  gentle  tones  of  the 
priest  could  be  heard  from  the  adjoining  room, 
or  a  cautious  reply  from  the  doctor  or  Monsieur 
Dubois.  These  murmurs  went  on  for  half  an 
hour,  then  ceased  altogether. 

Suddenly  there  was  some  sort  of  movement  in 
the  hall  just  without  Ferriby's  door.  It  was 
opened  gently,  and  Father  Gibault  entered,  fol 
lowed  by  Dr.  La  Fitte,  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Dubois,  and  the  two  girls,  Elise  and  Suzanne. 

Ferriby  lay  back  in  a  deep  chair,  dressed  in  a 
simple  gown  of  pure  white,  with  the  Virgin's  color 
showing  in  knots  of  ribbon  on  it  here  and  there. 
Her  hair,  much  of  which  had  been  sacrificed,  so 
matted  had  it  become,  was  hidden  away  under  a 


1/8  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

thin,  white  lawn  cap.  Her  eyes,  as  startled  as  a 
doe's,  glinting  with  nervous  lights,  seemed  darker 
and  larger,  sunken  deep  in  their  sockets.  The 
brown  of  her  forest  life  had  faded  and  left  her  face 
pallid  as  a  fall  of  new  snow.  The  red  had  vanished 
from  her  lips,  leaving  them  tinged  with  faintest 
purple.  Her  cheeks  were  so  thinned  as  to  almost 
show  the  form  of  her  teeth  behind  the  wasted 
flesh.  Compared  to  what  she  had  been,  she  was 
a  ghastly  object,  stripped  of  beauty,  of  youth,  of 
the  flesh  of  her  bones ;  she  was  a  mere  skeleton 
with  breath  in  it.  Her  aspect  was  so  changed 
from  the  spirited  girl  of  rounded  contours,  ver- 
milled  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,  and  buoyant  step, 
who  parted  from  her  lover  in  the  clearing,  that 
none  who  knew  her  then  would  at  the  first  glance 
recognize  her  now. 

Beholding  her,  the  old  impious  cry  would  rise 
to  the  lips,  "  If  there  be  an  Omnipotent  Power, 
a  Beneficent  Spirit,  why  do  such  calamities  come 
upon  the  innocent  ? " 

She  looked  at  the  strangers  with  that  visible 
shrinking  now  habitual  to  her;  for  she  had  no 
recollection  of  Father  Gibault.  He  and  Monsieur 
Dubois  approached  her  side.  The  latter  carried 
a  silver  bowl  half  full  of  fair  water.  The  priest 
held  in  his  hand  a  missal,  with  a  finger  inserted 


THE  APPARITION  179 

between  its  leaves.  For  Father  Gibault,  ever 
mindful  of  his  first  duty,  —  the  saving  of  heretics 
by  bringing  them  into  the  bosom  of  the  true 
church,  —  had  taken  this  opportunity  to  baptize 
the  flotsam  of  the  great  Ouibache.  Colonel 
Dubois  stood  godfather,  and  madame,  godmother. 
When  the  name  was  demanded,  Jeanne  whispered 
to  her  father  "  Angele  Dubois,"  and  thus  she  was 
christened. 

When  the  drops  of  water  ran  down  her  face, 
Ferriby  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  priest's  countenance 
and  smiled  faintly  upon  him  with  the  brief,  touch 
ing  loveliness  that  marks  the  smile  of  a  sleeping 
babe,  upon  which  the  doting  nurse  declares  it  sees 
angels.  It  was  so  moving,  on  her  wan  face,  that 
tears  of  tender  sympathy  suffused  Father  Gibault's 
eyes.  She  sat  opposite  the  open  window  in  the 
strong  morning  light.  As  her  eyes  fell  from  the 
priest's  face  they  travelled  idly  across  this  open 
space,  and  for  an  instant  stared  in  such  fixity  of 
horror  as  to  make  the  flesh  creep  of  those  who 
watched  her.  She  gave  one  loud  shriek  and 
buried  her  face  on  Jeanne's  bosom.  Jeanne 
pacified  her  like  a  child,  and  asked  soothingly  and 
composedly :  — 

"  What  is  it  my  angel  ?  Tell  your  friend  !  "  — - 
as  if  this  outbreak  were  no  unusual  occurrence. 


ISO  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  His  spirit !  his  spirit !  Oh  so  pale  !  He  is 
dead!" 

It  was  but  a  fitful  flash  of  memory ;  for  when 
urged  further,  she  could  tell  nothing,  only  trem 
bled  with  fear. 

Father  Gibault  was  much  startled,  and  asked 
with  great  concern,  — 

"  Is  she  affected  thus  often,  Jeanne  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  but  never  before  in  the  daytime. 
Often  at  night  in  her  dreams  she  sees  terrible 
things,  and  rouses  and  screams.  But  I  soothe 
and  coax  her  into  quiet  again." 

She  tenderly  pressed  the  girl's  head  to  her 
breast,  and  patted  her  shoulder  gently  till  the 
long  shudders  subsided. 

"  Poor  little  one !  she  must  have  suffered  some 
frightful  calamity  !  Is  this  torpor  of  brain  under 
which  she  labors  common  to  highly  strung 
women  ? "  the  priest  asked  of  the  doctor,  who 
stood  looking  on  with  calm  professional  interest. 

"  No ;  not  common.  Such  cases  have  been 
met  with ;  but  among  the  sturdy  pioneer  women 
such  complete  exhaustion  of  nervous  force  is  rare. 
She  must  have  undergone  terrible  experiences  in 
deed  to  so  reduce  her,  of  which  fat'gue  is  least ! " 

"  Can  you  do  nothing  for  her?  "  asked  madame, 
appealingly. 


THE  APPARITION  l8l 

"  No;  there  is  nothing  better  than  young,  cheer 
ful  society  to  rouse  her.  Get  her  to  dancing  as 
soon  as  she  has  strength.  Keep  her  in  sunshine 
mentally  and  physically,  and  the  good  God,  if 
such  be  his  intention,  will  make  her  whole  again. 
If  not,  then  man  may  not." 

Dr.  La  Fitte  gently  lifted  the  hidden  face,  and 
gazed  into  the  eyes  darkly  blue,  with  the  pu 
pils  widely  stretched  by  terror,  and  saw  within 
the  dancing,  flashing  lights  that  point  toward 
insanity. 

When  the  three  men,  Father  Gibault,  Dr. 
La  Fitte,  and  Colonel  Dubois,  had  slipped  away 
from  the  jubilant,  almost  riotous,  company  at  the 
tavern,  they  had  been  followed  by  Clark's  spy. 
Without  difficulty  Lancaster  managed  to  hide 
himself  under  the  green  bower  made  by  the 
Guelder-rose,  in  accordance  with  his  promise  not 
to  lose  any  secrets  they  might  have.  In  his 
trafficking  among  the  villagers  in  the  Illinois 
country,  he  had  picked  up  a  patois  of  trading 
French,  which  he  comprehended  well  as  he  spoke 
it  ill.  This  fact,  coming  to  the  knowledge  of 
Clark,  had  been  one  of  the  chief  reasons  why 
he  had  been  chosen  for  this  delicate  mission. 
He  was,  too,  the  only  man  in  the  guard  who 


1 82  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

could  write,  and  had  wit  enough  to  perform  such 
a  task.  As  he  was  not  an  enlisted  man,  he 
could  not  be  compelled  to  return,  and  it  was 
therefore  agreed  he  should  write  a  full  report 
and  secrete  it  in  Poole's  saddle-bags  as  Clark  had 
suggested,  that  he  might  not  be  hindered  on  his 
long  journey  to  Detroit,  where,  he  had  definitely 
learned  while  in  O  Poste,  the  Puans  had  gone. 

Lancaster  had  overheard  every  word  of  their 
harmless  conference,  but  when  they  retired  to  the 
other  room,  his  wonder  was  excited,  and  he  man 
aged  to  get  a  peep  into  the  interior.  What  he 
saw  there  moved  his  heart  with  pity.  The  dying 
girl,  as  he  supposed  her  to  be,  recalled  to  him  the 
tender  maid  he  sought,  who  might  at  that  mo 
ment  be  enduring  torture,  or  worse,  among 
the  savages,  and  his  soul  was  inflamed  with 
passionate  rage.  With  inexplicable  emotion  he 
stared  through  the  window,  recklessly  and  in 
tently,  during  the  baptismal  rite,  which  meant 
little  to  him.  Grief  filled  his  eyes  with  tears; 
pain  tore  at  his  heart ;  savage  plans  for  revenge 
burned  in  his  brain.  So  absorbed  did  he  become 
as  the  ceremony  proceeded,  that  he  was  lost  to 
caution,  and  leaned  nearer  and  nearer  the  win 
dow,  and  only  escaped  discovery  because  the  in 
terest  of  those  within  was  centred  on  the  girl. 


THE  APPARITION  183 

He  lost  his  cap,  and  after  stooping  to  regain  it, 
rose  upright  before  the  window  at  the  moment 
Ferriby's  eyes  fell  upon  it. 

So  dull  are  our  senses,  so  feeble  our  spiritual 
vision,  so  in  thrall  to  the  flesh,  that  one  more 
mortal  "comprehended  not."  The  whips  of  na 
ture  lashed  Lancaster  into  a  passion  of  pain  at 
her  cry,  but  could  not  drive  him  to  recognition. 
That  night  he  proceeded  on  his  journey  to  the 
far  north,  heavy  of  heart,  weighed  down  in  spirit 
with  premonitions  of  failure. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

A    QUIET    INTERVAL 

AFTER  the  conquest  of  the  four  little  French 
towns,  they  constituted  a  sort  of  republic  under 
the  rule  of  a  single  person,  —  Clark,  —  who  held 
no  other  commission  than  that  of  an  officer  of  the 
troops  of  Virginia.  Encouraged  by  his  success 
here,  he  entertained  the  bold  design  of  attacking 
Detroit ;  and  he  appealed  again  and  again  to  the 
governor  of  Virginia  for  soldiers,  but  his  excel 
lency  was  too  deeply  engaged  in  the  Revolution 
of  the  colonies  to  spare  either  men  or  money. 
Clark  looked  each  day  for  the  enemy  to  fall  upon 
him  and  destroy  him.  Inaction  was  maddening 
to  him  who  had  sipped  the  wine  of  victory  —  alas ! 
only  to  create  a  hotter  thirst.  He  had  no  recourse 
but  to  submit. 

The  Indians,  however,  were  actively  carrying  on 
relentless  border-war.  The  American  pioneers 
fled  to  the  nearest  stockades,  and  their  empty 
cabins  told  the  story  of  cruelty  which  will  forever 
brand  with  shame  the  name  of  Henry  Hamilton. 

184 


A   QUIET  INTERVAL  1 8$ 

If  Clark  and  the  pioneers  were  troubled,  not  so 
the  Frenchman.  He  had  changed  his  allegiance 
so  often  that  it  had  become  a  matter  of  indiffer 
ence  to  him  to  whom  nominally  he  owed  alle 
giance.  Secretly  he  was  unswervingly  loyal  to 
his  king,  Louis  of  France.  But  there  were 
among  them  some  who  were  actively  aggressive. 
Rochblave,  the  deposed  commandant,  was  one. 
He  made  the  roving  bands  of  savages  his  agents 
to  bear  the  news  of  the  fall  of  the  French  towns 
to  Detroit,  where  Hamilton  was  in  command. 

Monsieur  Dubois  administered  his  office  leni 
ently,  and  was  not  too  superior  to  his  neighbors, 
who  would  have  laughed  good-humoredly  at  any 
assumption  of  loftiness  on  his  part.  In  his  home 
the  days  of  summer  had  passed  with  pleasant  swift 
ness.  The  adopted  child  had  become  one  of 
them,  tenderly  loved  and  cared  for  by  all  save 
6lise,  who  never  threw  off  her  haughty  coldness 
toward  Angele  —  as  she  was  called  now  altogether. 
Nor  was  Elise,  in  truth,  any  too  agreeable  to  her 
own  blood. 

The  affairs  at  the  fort  —  renamed  Patrick 
Henry  —  went  well  under  Captain  Helm.  Big 
and  good-natured  he  ruled  his  little  garrison  laxly, 
and  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  all  the  villagers. 
There  were  no  near  disturbances  from  the  Indians, 


1 86  ON   THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

and  time  passed  in  placid  dulness.  The  villagers 
observed  their  constantly  recurring  fetes,  and 
passed  over  the  fast  days  in  easy  oversight. 

St.  Vrain  was  gone  from  the  village  the  greater 
part  of  the  summer  and  was  sadly  missed  on  these 
festive  occasions.  Frequent  and  fervent  were  the 
wishes  for  his  return. 

Ferriby  took  little  part  in  these  festivals 
although,  plastic  as  new  clay,  which  to  all  intents 
she  was,  —  her  past  life  under  bond  to  oblivion, — 
she  was  fast  becoming  a  French  demoiselle  in 
speech  and  manner.  Yet  there  were  mute  pro 
tests  of  nature  which  tried  to  break  through  her 
mental  apathy :  she  could  not  join  the  dance  with 
the  abandon  of  Suzanne ;  nor  attend  on  the  wor 
ship  of  the  little  church,  on  the  rare  occasions  that 
Father  Gibault  came,  with  the  devotional  ardor 
of  Jeanne ;  she  felt  burdened  by  the  forms  and 
ceremonies  which  Elise  would  have  imposed  on 
the  household  but  for  their  concerted  rebellion. 
Every  day  her  mind  expanded  and  revived  save 
in  the  faculty  of  memory.  Warned  by  the  priest 
and  doctor,  none  dared  try  to  awaken  it  from  its 
intervital  state.  They  sometimes  hoped  it  might 
never  be. 

Ferriby  could  now  chatter  easily  the  very  good 
French  spoken  in  the  colonel's  family ;  could 


A  QUIET  INTERVAL  1 87 

dance  with  more  grace  than  Suzanne,  if  not  with 
the  energy.  She  could  tell  her  beads  with  humil 
ity,  but  with  a  faint  aversion,  an  ancestral  antip 
athy  from  Scotch  Presbyterian  forebears.  Her 
beauty  had  returned,  spiritualized ;  her  hair  had 
grown  long  again,  but  of  somewhat  darker  color ; 
her  wasted  figure  had  rounded  into  softer  contours  ; 
but  there  was  a  listlessness  about  her  yet  which 
told  of  a  lack  of  vitality.  She  joined  her  foster- 
sisters  in  all  their  pastimes,  and  now  in  the  serene 
close  of  summer  looked  forward  to  the  cider 
making,  grape  gatherings,  and  nuttings  with 
interest,  in  which  all  the  villagers,  old  and  young, 
joined  with  hearty  enjoyment. 

There  was  one  creature  who  disturbed  her  and 
roused  her  distrust,  —  the  donne  !  Ah-mah-nac-o 
she  had  forgotten  as  part  of  her  old  life.  Gaston 
had  a  singular  persistence  in  finding  her  out  when 
alone.  No  sooner  had  Jeanne,  the  faithful,  disap 
peared  than  he  arose,  as  if  by  magic,  at  her  side. 
He  troubled  her  with  menaces  for  which  she 
could  find  no  reason.  She  now  understood  what 
his  destiny  was  to  be,  and  while  she  half  pitied, 
she  wholly  distrusted  him,  and  knew  the  words  he 
spoke  to  her  so  wildly  and  secretly  were  not  in 
keeping  with  the  character  of  the  future  monk  or 
priest,  as  he  himself  might  elect.  His  hatred  of 


1 88  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

St.  Vrain  was  furiously  unreasonable,  and,  to  her, 
incomprehensible;  and  he  never  failed  to  offer 
intangible  insult  to  the  coureur,  who  esteemed  him 
beneath  his  notice. 

"  He  is  but  a  half-bred  cur  that  one  good  kick 
would  settle  !  "  said  Hilaire,  contemptuously. 

St.  Vrain  still  hovered  about  Ferriby,  abashed 
at  heart  as  he  never  thought  to  be,  but  more 
audacious  than  ever  to  the  other  demoiselles  in 
her  presence.  He  felt  for  her  a  reverence  border 
ing  on  adoration,  but  would  as  soon  have  thought 
of  making  love  to  Saint  Margaret  herself.  Jeal 
ousy  never  troubled  him,  for  he  felt  that  the  girl's 
heart  was  as  free  from  passion  as  the  lovely  figure 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  cathedral  at  Quebec. 

His  feeling,  thus  checked,  did  not  overstep  the 
bounds  of  ardent  devotion,  though  it  would  have 
flamed  into  violent  passion  had  the  girl  been  less 
cold.  He  never  failed  to  see  her  on  his  return 
from  his  various  missions,  and  left  her  presence 
each  time  groaning  in  spirit  over  his  own  curi 
ous,  unconquerable  abashment  and  her  artless 
gratitude. 

St.  Vrain  had  been  away  so  long  on  his  last 
journey  to  Detroit  that  he  was  now  daily,  even 
hourly,  looked  for.  Suzanne,  whose  bon  cama- 
rade  he  was,  openly  expressed  the  hope  he 


A  QUIET   INTERVAL  189 

would  return  in  time  for  the  cider  making,  which 
would  be  on  the  coming  Thursday,  the  last  day 
of  September. 

Happy  and  light  hearted,  the  villagers  lived  for 
the  present  day,  and  borrowed  no  trouble  for  the 
next. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    CIDER   MAKING 

THE  hot  early  days  of  September  had  gone,  the 
frost-tempered  mornings  and  evenings  had  come, 
delicately  tinting  the  foliage  of  garden  plants, 
turning  the  great  leaves  of  the  paw-paws  to  golden 
ovals,  spotting  its  odorous  fruit  to  purple  ripeness, 
so  loved  of  the  connoisseur;  and  mellowing  the 
apples  in  the  orchard  in  the  fumacious  atmos 
phere  of  autumn.  It  was  time  for  the  cider 
making,  —  a  day  of  general  jollity  in  which  the 
whole  village  joined. 

St.  Vrain  had  laughingly  promised  to  return  in 
time  for  it,  but  he  had  not  yet  appeared,  though 
the  sun  was  two  hours  high,  and  the  boys  and 
girls  were  already  busy  in  the  orchard,  gathering 
the  cool  fragrant  apples  ;  the  boys  in  the  trees,  the 
girls  picking  them  up  from  the  ground,  and  put 
ting  them  into  carts  between  the  pauses  of  the 
vigorous  shaking,  —  a  bruise  more  or  less  did  not 
count  in  cider  making. 

Nearly  every  garden  plot  had  a  few  apple  trees, 

190 


THE   CIDER   MAKING  IQI 

and  many  families  had  good-sized  orchards,  stretch 
ing  in  long  straight  rows.  A  pretty  sight  they 
were,  the  red  apples  gleaming  from  out  the  dull 
leafage,  the  last  to  fall  in  the  autumn,  tenderly 
cherishing  the  fruit  from  the  first  hard  little  bullet 
up  to  the  great  scarlet  sphere ;  through  the  blast 
ing  chill  of  the  leaf -cold,  through  the  long  drought 
and  scalding  heat  of  August,  into  the  rapid  ma 
turing  night-chill  and  day-fervor  of  September, 
till  now  the  most  exquisite  of  all  juices  and  flavors 
Nature  stores  away  in  her  fruitage  was  ready  to 
express  into  delicious  cider. 

It  was  one  of  September's  blue-swathed  days 
through  which  the  sunlight  filtered  in  aureate 
shimmering.  The  air  was  a-quiver  with  tempered 
heat,  sumachs  were  blazing  on  the  low  hills  to  the 
east ;  the  maples  were  ruddy  and  golden,  and  shone 
out  insistently  from  among  the  black-green  of 
the  oaks  in  the  forest  topping  the  shallow  heights. 
Content  and  regret  filled  those  who  had  a  sensi 
tive  soul  for  beauty,  —  who,  truth  to  tell,  were  few 
enough  in  that  jocund  company,  —  content  with 
the  present  loveliness ;  regret  at  its  fugitiveness. 

The  clumsy  wooden  press  was  set  up  in  the 
corner  of  Monsieur  Bosseron's  orchard,  shaded  by 
a  group  of  pines  that  grew  in  exile  there.  His 
was  the  largest  yield  of  fruit,  next  to  Colonel 


IQ2  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

Dubois's,  —  where  the  fete  had  been  held  the  pre 
vious  year,  —  therefore  it  was  manifestly  the  proper 
place  to  hold  it  this  season.  The  cider  was  por 
tioned  out  among  them  according  to  each  man's 
contribution  of  fruit;  and  a  generous  portion  was 
reserved  for  those  who  had  none.  A  devouring 
hopper  of  split  oak  scantlings  received  the  loads 
of  apples.  The  big  arm  of  the  press,  creaking 
loud,  was  turned  by  a  patient  ox,  and  crunched 
from  them  their  sweet  juices.  The  turgid  fluid 
poured  in  a  steady  stream  from  the  spills  into 
a  large  trough  made  of  a  hollowed-out  tree 
trunk. 

The  air  was  saturated  with  a  tart  effluence 
that  set  one  slavering.  Piles  of  brown  pomace 
began  to  mount  near  the  press,  which  the  irritable, 
yellow-striped  bees  sucked  at  with  all  the  delight 
of  a  toper  in  his  cups,  for  once  satiated  into  good- 
humor.  They  carried  to  the  hive  such  store  of 
sweets  the  very  drones  hummed  busily. 

Loud  laughter  from  the  youths  and  maidens; 
shrill  screams  when  some  apple,  dropped  with  sly 
intent,  cracked  its  victim  smartly  on  the  head ; 
threats  and  counter-threats  passing  between  the 
pickers  of  opposite  sexes;  the  humming  of  the 
bees;  the  groaning  of  the  press  combined  in 
cheerful  commotion. 


THE  CIDER  MAKING  193 

Ferriby,  or  Angele,  as  she  was  now  universally 
called,  sat  apart  on  a  bench  under  a  pear  tree, 
near  'Sieur  Bosseron's  beehives.  She  listened 
with  bland  pleasure  to  the  murmur  of  the  tiny 
laborers,  and  lost  sight  of  her  surroundings  till 
she  was  recalled  by  St.  Vrain's  robust  voice  joy 
ously  shouting,  "  Ma  foi !  For  once  I  have  good 
fortune ! "  On  all  sides  a  clamor  of  welcome 
arose,  and  a  brisk  fire  of  questions. 

"  Hold !  hold  !  You  would  flood  me  with  ques 
tions  worse  than  the  waters  of  the  Ouibache  over 
the  Drowned  Lands  ! "  cried  the  coureur.  "  I  may 
not  say  where  I've  been,  nor  why.  But  I  can 
say  that  I  am  rejoiced  to  be  with  you  again ;  and 
by  all  that's  lucky,  at  cider  making !  " 

From  hither  and  yon  the  young  people  flocked 
to  greet  him,  and  while  he  was  thus  engaged 
Gaston  Bevard  came  into  the  orchard  unnoticed 
from  an  opposite  quarter.  His  path  led  him 
past  Ferriby's  seat,  and  he  paused  and  spoke  to 
her.  His  abrupt  manner,  and  the  wild  flash  of 
hate  from  his  dark  eye,  which  had  found  out  the 
coureur,  frightened  her,  but  she  gently  responded 
to  his  salutation. 

"  I  had  hoped  to  see  you  once  alone !  free  from 
the  presence  of  that  bete  noir !  "  he  said  bitterly. 
"  I  have  long  determined  to  tell  you  —  " 


194  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Ferriby  rose  quickly  and  would  have  left  him, 
but  he  grasped  her  wrist,  and  forced  her  down 
on  the  bench  again,  —  an  action  none  noticed,  so 
engaged  with  the  coureur  were  they ;  even  the 
creak  of  the  press  was  silent. 

"  No!  no !  "  entreated  Ferriby,  in  a  panic,  "tell 
me  nothing !  " 

u  But  I  will ! "  he  cried  violently.  "  I  am  no 
Frenchman  to  fawn  at  women's  feet;  nor  am  I 
English  to  treat  them  with  mock  chivalry.  I  am 
all  savage  !  And  I  want,  and  will  have,  the  woman 
I  choose  !  —  You !  " 

Ferriby  shrank  from  him  and  tried  to  free  her 
self,  but  he  held  her  fast  and  leaned  over  her, 
devouring  her  with  a  fierce  gaze.  His  usually 
impassive  face  was  quivering  with  passion,  which 
revolted  and  terrified  her,  and  she  would  have 
screamed,  but  his  long  slender  hand  fell  upon  her 
lips. 

"  It  is  best  to  listen  quietly ;  for  hear  me  you 
must !  You  love  the  forest,  the  quiet  life  among 
the  trees,  —  I've  watched  you  often,  and  I  know! 
—  the  broad  sky,  the  flow  of  the  river,  the  free 
dom  to  wander  at  will.  I,  too,  love  them  all  — all !  " 
he  cried  with  passionate  fervor.  "  What  are  the 
white  man's  narrow  life  and  cold  religion  to  me  ? 
I  am  Indian,  —  all  Indian !  My  white  father  cared 


I  want,  and  will  have,  the  woman  I  choose.'  ' 


THE  CIDER   MAKING  195 

no  more  for  me  than  the  he-wolf  for  its  cub !  He 
cast  my  mother  off  and  forgot  me !  The  wilder 
ness  calls  me  with  the  far  voices  of  my  ancestors. 
I  will  go  to  the  forest  many,  many  leagues  from 
here,  and  you  shall  go  with  me!  There  I  shall 
forget  my  cursed  white  blood.  There  I  will  no 
more  be  scorned  for  my  mother's  blood.  Her  fate 
she  could  not  help !  Curses  on  them,  one  and 
all,  those  pale  usurpers  !  " 

A  mixture  of  hate  and  rage  distorted  his  hand 
some  features,  and  he  uttered  imprecations  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.  His  mood  was  the  more  fright 
ful  for  its  repression.  Ferriby  gazed  into  his  face, 
so  spellbound  by  his  fury  that  she  could  now 
neither  scream  nor  move  if  she  would. 

"  This  night  I  will  go,  and  you  will  go  with 
me!" 

"  Father  Gibault  —  the  church  — -  "  she  stam 
mered  thickly. 

"  To  the  hell  of  the  white  man  with  both  !  The 
gods  of  the  forest  and  stream  are  mine !  I  hate 
the  canting  goodness  of  the  priest,  the  narrow 
bounds  of  the  church !  The  God  I  would  have 
is  he  whose  habitation  is  in  the  vastness  of  the 
forest ;  whose  voice  in  gentleness  whispers  among 
the  tender  leaves  in  spring,  murmurs  in  the  low 
waters;  in  anger,  thunders  from  the  clouds,  and 


196  ON  THE  WE- A  TRAIL 

roars  from  the  mighty  winds !  This  puny  white 
man's  God  !  Ugh  !  I'll  have  none  of  him  !  " 

All  the  pent-up  mutiny  of  his  soul  had  burst 
bounds  and  rushed  forth  untrammelled. 

Ferriby  still  gazed  into  his  passion-kindled  face, 
while  fear  of  him  widened  the  pupils  of  her  eyes, 
and  made  her  face  pale. 

Suddenly  he  looked  with  inexpressible  hate 
toward  the  crowd  about  St.  Vrain.  His  glance 
removed,  the  spell  snapped,  Ferriby  could  speak. 

"  I  cannot  go !  Loose  me  !  "  she  pleaded  in  a 
low  voice. 

He  turned  to  her  fully  again ;  his  reply  was 
fierce  and  loud :  — 

"  Go  you  shall !  I  swear  it  by  the  Manitou  of 
my  mother's  tribe,  and  by  the  unpitying  God  of 
your  race  !  Go  you  shall !  " 

"  Go  ?  Yes ;  by  all  means,  ma'm'selle,  while 
the  cider  runs  clearest.  But  why,  Gaston,  roar  so 
ordinary  a  request  ?  " 

St.Vrain  smiled  with  devilish  maliciousness  and 
unveiled  mockery,  which  maddened  the  donne, 
who,  frenzied,  would  have  dragged  the  girl  to  her 
feet  and  fled  with  her  then. 

"  Savage  fool !  Loose  the  girl,  or,  by  Heaven, 
you'll  bite  the  earth!" 

The  two  men  stared  steadily  at  each  other  like 


THE  CIDER  MAKING  197 

a  pair  of  fierce  catamounts,  tensely  ready  to 
spring,  when  Ferriby's  voice  caused  them  to  fall 
back  a  step. 

"  Don't !  oh,  don't ! "  she  cried.  "  Both  leave 
me!" 

St.  Vrain  turned  his  back  upon  the  donne, 
strong  contempt  in  the  very  act,  and  said :  — 
"  Pardon,  ma'm'selle  !  You  are  right !  This  is  not 
the  place  for  a  quarrel.  May  I  conduct  you  to 
your  sisters  ?  " 

She  arose  with  such  swift  alacrity  that  Bevard 
scowled  ;  they  walked  away,  leaving  him  looking 
malignantly  after  them. 

"  Say  nothing ! "  murmured  Ferriby  to  the 
coureur. 

"  As  you  command,  ma'm'selle ! "  he  replied. 

All  day  long  the  cider-mill  groaned;  all  day 
long  the  boys  and  girls  frolicked.  The  great 
hogsheads  frothed  to  the  brim.  The  last  apple 
had  been  gathered.  The  youths  and  maidens 
were  now  dancing,  weaving  in  and  out,  falling 
into  figures  like  bits  of  glass  in  a  kaleidoscope, 
then  were  as  suddenly  separated  and  as  formless. 
The  dance  was  done.  They  moved  off  in  groups 
and  couples  to  slake  their  thirst.  Pewter  mugs 
brimming  with  the  liquor  passed  from  hand  to 


198  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

hand,  and  it  was  sipped  daintily  or  swallowed  in 
great  gulps.  Ferriby  and  St.  Vrain  stood  to 
gether.  He  had  unobtrusively  watched  over  her 
since  her  encounter  of  the  morning,  with  Bevard. 
They  stood  aloof  from  the  jostling,  laughing 
crowd,  awaiting  a  quiet  chance,  when  they  saw 
Gaston  approaching  them.  He  bore  in  either 
hand  a  mug  of  cider,  bubbled  like  opals.  The 
third  and  fourth  fingers  of  his  right  hand  were 
pressed  close  under  the  palm,  a  cup  was  held  in 
the  others.  He  paused,  and,  with  an  attempt  at 
graciousness,  said,  — 

"  M'am'selle  Angele,  will  you  and  Monsieur, 
the  Coureur,  drink  with  me  as  a  token  of  pardon 
for  my  offences  of  the  morning  ?  " 

"  With  all  the  pleasure  in  life,"  agreed  St.  Vrain, 
heartily,  before  Ferriby  could  answer.  And  he 
relieved  Gaston  of  the  cup  in  his  right  hand,  and 
turned  to  present  it  to  her.  Instead  of  looking  at 
St.  Vrain  she  regarded  Bevard  with  the  same  fasci 
nated  gaze  of  the  morning,  and  she  saw  his  right 
hand  raised,  as  if  to  brush  back  a  long  lock  that 
had  fallen  over  his  forehead.  As  it  swept  over 
the  cup  destined  for  St.  Vrain,  his  folded  fingers 
straightened.  The  sun  shone  in  broad  slanting 
rays,  as  it  was  fast  declining,  and  in  the  shining 
light  she  saw  a  fine  dust,  like  motes,  sift  down 


THE  CIDER   MAKING  199 

into  the  cider.  She  leaned  forward  to  take  the 
mug  from  St.  Vrain  and  lurched,  as  if  her  foot 
had  rolled  upon  a  pebble,  against  the  donne, 
knocking  the  cup  he  held  from  his  hand. 

He  stared  with  undisguised  ferocity  at  the  girl, 
and  her  face  lost  every  vestige  of  color  except 
for  the  black  horror  of  her  eyes.  St.  Vrain 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  guessed  shrewdly, 
dashed  the  cider  into  Gaston's  face,  and  said  with 
infinite  contempt :  — 

"  Would  you  ?     Untamed  savage !  " 

He  seized  Ferriby's  arm  and  almost  dragged 
her  away. 

Old  Mous-wah's  banewort  had  been  wasted  1 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  GRAPE  GATHERING 

THE  forest  had  decked  itself  in  its  gaudiest  color 
ing,  crimson  and  yellow  flashed  from  masses  of 
green  and  brown.  In  the  river  bottoms  the 
purple  grapes,  dulled  by  an  exquisite  bloom,  were 
bursting  with  juices.  The  wild  bees  were  already 
stabbing  them,  token  that  it  was  fully  time  to 
gather  them  for  the  wine  making.  The  place 
where  they  grew  thickest,  a  low  terrace  on  the 
river,  five  or  six  miles  south  of  O  Poste,  was  the 
spot  fixed  upon  by  the  villagers  for  the  annual 
grape  gathering. 

A  motley  collection  of  water  craft  lay  on  the 
river,  jarring  against  each  other,  pulling  at  their 
ropes  like  restive  horses,  tossing  like  cockle-shell 
by  the  force  of  the  current,  just  under  the 
palisades  of  the  fort.  The  low  bank  on  the 
opposite  shore  was  filled  with  Indians  watching 
the  embarkation ;  for  nearly  the  whole  town 
would  be  of  the  company.  A  guard  at  the  post 
and  a  few  feeble  folk  would  be  left  behind. 


200 


THE   GRAPE  GATHERING  2OI 

It  was  mid  October.  The  frost,  which  had  held 
off  wonderfully,  had  touched  but  lightly  with  its 
searing  chill  the  maples  and  sweet  gum,  so  that 
they  glowed  brilliantly;  the  leathery  ovals  of  the 
paw-paws  were  golden  in  the  bottoms.  "  Good-by- 
to-summer  "  lent  to  the  passing  of  autumn  its 
lovely  milk-blue  bloom  in  airy  clusters.  Near  by 
nodded  the  stately  milkweed  whose  gay  pink  pom 
pons  of  florets  had  turned  to  silvery  filaments 
bursting  from  pale  green  pods  shaped  like  little 
canoes,  which  were  casting  abroad  on  gossamer 
wings  scalelike  seeds.  The  fuzzy  brown  tops  of 
the  ironweed  —  but  a  little  while  ago  flaunting 
the  kingly  color  —  showered  its  motile  harvest. 
All  blent  in  motley. 

The  villagers  came  from  every  direction,  —  the 
young  maidens  bearing  dainty  baskets  woven  of 
withes  from  the  willows  now  tossing  slim  arms 
jauntily,  as  if  bidding  them  bon  voyage  ;  the  elder 
women  carrying  large  substantial  ones  of  hickory 
splints,  which  the  Indians  made  so  deftly,  and 
which  would  hold  all  of  a  bushel. 

As  is  the  rule  with  crowds,  the  first  comers, 
though  tarrying  late,  shortly  drew  the  others,  and 
very  soon  the  whole  company  had  gathered  and 
were  aboard  the  batteaux ;  canoes  —  safe  for  one, 
doubtful,  but  altogether  delightful,  for  two  —  and 


202  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

cunning  little  pirogues  that  snugly  held  a  couple, 
by  some  strange  ordering  of  chance,  of  opposite 
sexes. 

Even  the  donne  was  present,  and  sat  apart, 
morose  and  silent,  as  if  waiting  for  some  one. 
Not  far  off  the  lively  voice  of  the  coureur  was 
heard  chaffing  a  lover  and  his  lass  who  had  skil 
fully  eluded  the  family  batteau,  and  shipped  to 
gether  in  the  frailest  of  crafts. 

St.  Vrain  was  bubbling  over  with  liveliness, 
but  he  was  not  too  much  engaged  to  keep  an  eye 
on  Gaston,  and  knew  by  instinct  why  he  waited 
so  moodily. 

"  No,  no,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
think  a  birch-bark  canoe  fitter  for  so  fair  a  pas 
senger  than  that  clumsy  tree  trunk  of  thine ! 
Trust  St.  Vrain  to  give  passage  to  the  fairest 
voyageur  afloat  this  morning ! " 

Only  one  batteau,  rather  better  than  the  others, 
remained  to  be  laden.  The  company  waited  with 
a  little  impatience  for  its  passengers  to  arrive. 
They  had  hardly  expressed  their  wonder  at  the 
delay,  and  guessed  at  the  reason,  when  the  delin 
quents  appeared  down  the  dusty  cart-track,  — pere, 
mere,  and  demoiselles  Dubois  in  holiday  humor. 

Monsieur  was  condescending  and  stately,  for 
he  could  not  quite  forget;  his  position ;  madame 


THE  GRAPE  GATHERING  2O3 

was  flushed  with  hurry ;  Elise,  cold  and  rather 
scorning  it  all ;  Jeanne,  disrelishing  and  shrinking 
from  the  loud  jollity,  to  which  new  impetus  was 
given  by  their  appearance ;  Suzanne,  cheerful 
and  gay  as  the  cricket  that  chirruped  in  the  grass, 
enjoying  all  with  the  fervor  of  youth.  Lastly 
came  Angele,  listless  and  dreamy,  as  if  she  saw 
the  scene  through  a  maze,  which  she  tried  to 
brush  aside  as  she  did  the  long  glistening  webs 
floating  everywhere  in  the  moist  air. 

"  What !  Gaston  Bevard  did  leave  his  books 
long  enough  to  go  on  so  worldly  an  outing !  " 
exclaimed  Suzanne,  as  she  saw  him  rapidly  haul 
in  his  log  canoe  to  the  river's  margin,  in  the  hope, 
as  she  had  divined,  of  having  Angele  for  a  pas 
senger,  and  of  touching  her  hand  as  he  helped 
her  into  the  rocking  boat.  Small  reverence  had 
saucy  Suzanne  for  the  priest's  pupil,  and  little 
confidence  in  his  piety. 

"  It  is  not  forbidden  a  donne  to  gather  grapes, 
ma'm'selle,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"  No ;  '  nor  figs  from  thistles,'  if  he  can,"  she 
retorted  quickly,  and  with  such  significance  his 
brown  cheek  reddened,  and  his  oddly  changing 
eyes  flashed  fire  upon  her.  "  But  he  will  be  sadly 
pricked  if  he  try,  and  get  nothing  more  for  his 
pains  !  "  she  persisted. 


204  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

St.  Vrain,  too,  had  approached,  and  smiled 
broadly  at  Suzanne's  audacious  moralizing,  and 
with  a  dexterous  pull  brought  his  light  birch  bark 
ashore  just  as  madame  attempted  to  board  the 
batteau  and  lurched  forward,  barely  missing  a 
fall.  With  a  bound  he  was  aboard  it  and,  before 
the  eyes  of  the  chagrined  donne,  assisted  all  the 
ladies  of  the  commandant's  household  to  their 
places. 

Monsieur  Dubois's  batteau  was  manned  by  six 
stout  panis,  and  soon  shot  out  mid-stream,  then 
all  the  rest  followed  in  an  irregular  line. 

It  was  a  morning  of  exquisite  qualities,  mist- 
wrapped,  sweet-breathed.  The  sun  had  scarcely 
risen  above  the  first  tier  of  low  hills  far  to  the 
east,  and  the  azure  haze  of  Indian  summer 
wrapped  the  earth  tenderly.  In  the  great  blue 
sky  little  white  clouds  floated  lightly  as  owls' 
feathers.  The  air,  exhilarating  by  the  slight  frost 
overnight,  was  odorous  with  bitter  incense  of  the 
dying  foliage.  Far  to  the  west  stretched  the  still 
prairie,  and  at  the  remotest  skyline  moving  dots 
told  of  grazing  buffalo.  As  the  fleet  passed  on 
its  way,  the  blue  cranes  rose  in  flight  with  a  harsh 
cry,  disturbed  in  their  sedgy  solitudes.  Now  and 
then  a  great  pike,  intent  on  getting  his  breakfast, 
leaped  high  at  a  dragon-fly,  missed  his  aim,  and 


THE  GRAPE  GATHERING  2O5 

fell  floundering  into  some  boat,  whereupon  burst 
out  loud  girlish  screams. 

In  a  little  more  than  an  hour  the  company 
reached  their  destination,  —  a  flat  stretch  of  bot 
tom-land,  opposite  where  a  little  creek  joined  the 
Ouibache. 

Long  before  they  arrived  at  the  spot,  the  moist 
southern  breeze  effumed  a  winey  tincture  from 
nature's  own  vintry.  It  acted  on  them  like  new 
wine.  The  spirits  of  the  young  grew  riotous; 
and  the  slow  blood  of  the  elders  was  pleasantly 
stirred.  The  coureur  broke  into  Bacchic  chan 
son: — 

"  The  grape,  the  grape  !     It  gives  us  wine, 
It  gives  us  love,  it  gives  us  joy, 
And  to  the  soldier  courage  brings, 
To  die,  to  die  ! 

"  Then  sing,  then  sing  the  praise  of  wine 
That  cheers  us  in  our  hours  of  pain, 
And  bids  the  heart  that  longs  for  death, 
To  live,  to  live  !  " 

They  quickly  made  a  landing  and  mounted  the 
shallow  bank  to  the  higher  grounds,  where  the 
grapes  grew  thickest;  it  was  a  narrow  stretch 
like  the  top  of  a  terrace.  At  one  time  the  stream 
had  evidently  held  its  course  there,  and  had 
receded  into  its  present  channel.  Tokens  that  it 


206  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

had  tried  to  claim  its  own  again,  were  found  in 
great  limbs  lodged  in  unlikely  places,  and  in  piles 
of  drift-wood  stayed  by  tough  shrubs.  Back  of 
this  plateau  the  hills  sprang  steep  and  high, 
dusky  and  sombre  in  the  shadowing  of  pines 
and  balsam  firs,  carpeted  thick  by  variegated 
mosses,  beautified  by  vines  and  ferns. 

Suzanne,  in  wild  spirits,  made  a  dash  for  the 
highest  hilltop,  followed  by  a  half-score  of  her 
mates.  They  toiled  and  panted,  slipped  and 
struggled  up  the  steep  sides,  the  girls  helped  by 
the  strong,  eager  youths,  glad  of  the  chance  to  be 
so  near  to  the  coy  maidens  who  ordinarily  held 
them  at  arm's  length.  Many  a  sturdy  arm  cir 
cled  many  a  coveted  waist ;  many  a  large  tanned 
hand  clasped  a  little  browned  one,  with  a  great 
thump  of  joy  at  the  heart  of  the  lad  whose  mem 
bers  happened  to  be  thus  happily  placed.  Their 
progress  was  dilatory  for  more  than  one  reason, 
but  at  last  the  summit  was  gained. 

Angele  arrived  tardily.  She  was  attended  on 
either  hand  by  Gaston  and  St.  Vrain,  much  to 
her  distress ;  for  she  wished  the  company  of 
neither,  especially  in  their  present  mood  —  one  of 
bitter  sullenness  on  the  part  of  the  donn£,  and 
of  biting  malice  on  that  of  the  coureur.  Between 
the  two  she  suffered  as  many  another  woman  has, 


THE  GRAPE  GATHERING  2O/ 

without  any  tangible  means  of  putting  an  end  to 
the  situation.  She  was  not  a  coquette,  with  that 
wilful  creature's  enjoyment  of  such  rivalry.  If 
she  took  notice,  it  would  imply  undue  vanity; 
she  must  endure  in  silence. 

Before  them  spread  a  scene  of  enchanting 
beauty.  The  stately,  solemn  river  lay  glittering 
under  the  morning  sun.  On  the  opposite  shore 
the  low  hills  followed  the  sinuous  stream,  verdant 
with  the  second  growth  of  luxurious  grasses  that 
spring  up  after  the  October  rains  in  this  plenteous 
land,  pied  with  the  garish  tints  of  autumn  foliage. 
Mellow  sunlight  lay  over  all,  and  dispersed  the 
film  of  blue  vapor,  banishing  it  to  trie  far  distance, 
where,  quivering,  it  hung,  shutting  off  the  vista. 
Even  these  thoughtless  young  people  were  awed 
into  silence.  Their  chatter  ceased.  As  they 
gazed,  its  pensive  spell  caught  them,  and  they 
felt  the  deep  yearning  for  the  Great  Mother 
which  comes  over  her  children  in  her  solitudes. 

All  at  once  the  charm  was  broken  by  the  jocund 
coureur. 

"  Men  and  maidens  all,"  he  cried,  "  who's  for  a 
race  down  this  hill,  the  goal  to  be  that  clump  of 
paw-paws  ? " 

He  stood  below  them  on  a  little  level  space, 
and  pointed  down  a  steep,  smooth  slope,  which 


208  ON  THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

ended  within  a  few  paces  of  the  river's  brink.  It 
instantly  caught  their  fancy. 

They  clambered  down  where  he  stood.  At  a 
wave  of  his  cap  they  were  off,  except  three,  —  Gas- 
ton,  Jeanne,  and  Angele,  —  who  watched  their 
flight  as  they  rushed  on  with  ever  increasing 
velocity,  seemingly  unable  to  control  their  speed. 

Ferriby's  eyes  brightened  with  sudden  and  un 
usual  pleasure.  The  wild  sport  seemed  to  waken 
some  latent  memory.  She  laughed  softly  and 
clapped  her  hands,  and  before  Jeanne  could  grasp 
her  intention,  or  clutch  a  fold  of  her  gown,  she,  too, 
was  off  fleetly  as  a  doe  !  Jeanne,  fearful  for  her, 
rushed  after  to  'catch  her.  But  Ferriby,  who  had 
enjoyed  many  a  mad  race  with  her  little  brother, 
was  as  sure-footed  as  she  was  fleet,  and  reached 
the  goal,  panting,  brilliantly  flushed,  her  hair 
roughened  by  her  swift  passage  through  the  air, 
safe  and  sound,  within  two  yards  of  the  low  bank 
directly  under  which  the  water  stood  deep  and 
still. 

Jeanne,  unused  to  the  swift  running  many  girls 
delight  in,  lost  all  control  of  herself,  and  dashed 
with  ungoverned  speed  down  the  slope,  to  plunge 
headlong  into  the  river.  She  flung  up  an  arm, 
and  sank  like  a  stone  under  the  green  water. 
The  elders  of  the  company  had  dispersed  to 


THE  GRAPE  GATHERING  209 

gather  the  grapes.  The  younger  stood  transfixed, 
appalled.  After  an  instant  of  frozen  inaction, 
St.  Vrain  flung  off  his  leather  jerkin  and  mocca 
sins,  and  dived  into  the  stream.  The  loud  splash 
he  made  woke  the  others  from  their  trance  of 
horror.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  the  pale  face  of  the 
girl  arose  above  the  water.  The  coureur  snatched 
at  her  and  missed.  The  third  time  he  caught  the 
long  hair  which  had  loosed,  and  swimming  out  of 
reach  of  her  desperately  clutching  hands,  with 
one  hand  he  dragged  her  ashore.  The  cries  and 
screams  of  the  young  people  had  brought  the 
vintagers  quickly  on  the  scene. 

The  women  were  for  returning  home  at  once, 
but  unselfish  Jeanne,  who  bravely  rallied,  begged 
them  not  to  shorten  the  day's  pleasure.  A  huge 
fire  was  built  of  drift-wood  at  which  Jeanne  and 
St.  Vrain  dried  their  clothing,  the  coureur  making 
light  of  his  dripping  apparel.  One  and  another 
of  the  women  spared  Jeanne  a  garment,  and  soon 
all  were  composed  again,  but  a  shadow  had  fallen 
over  their  merriment 

Monsieur  Dubois  dropped  his  dignity,  and  with 
tearful  eyes,  again  and  again  thanked  St.  Vrain. 
Madame  threw  an  arm  about  his  neck  and  kissed 
him  on  both  cheeks,  which,  with  pleasing  simplic 
ity,  he  accepted  heartily  and  unabashed.  Ferriby 


2IO  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

looked  on  somewhat  out  of  sympathy  with  the 
effusiveness  of  this  scene,  yet  quite  as  thankful  as 
the  others.  Near  her  stood  Bevard,  a  cold  sneer 
on  his  lips,  his  Indian  nature  uppermost. 

"  'Tis  much  ado  over  a  girl !  "  he  scoffed.  "  Here 
again  we  are  in  sympathy.  You  scorn  this  ex 
hibition  of  weakness  as  I  do ! "  he  muttered 
disdainfully.  Yet  his  white  blood  whispered 
tauntingly  to  him  of  the  immense  advantage  the 
coureur  had  gained  with  the  Duboises  by  his 
heroism. 

The  afternoon  passed  without  further  mishap, 
and  at  sunset  they  made  ready  for  the  homeward 
voyage.  The  half-moon  was  riding  in  the  south 
ern  sky,  like  a  pale  shade,  its  faint  silver  out- 
lustred  by  the  fierce  crimson  of  the  declining 
sun,  now  resting  on  the  horizon.  Nature  watched 
in  silence  the  parting  of  these  orbs.  A  breath  of 
south  wind  scarcely  rippled  the  great  breast  of  the 
stream,  or  stirred  the  nude  pendants  of  the  wil 
lows.  The  sun  dropped,  waving  upward  broad, 
blood-red  pennons  which  ensanguined  the  pale 
east.  Impressible  by  nature,  easily  moved  by 
beauty,  the  villagers  watched  the  world-old  spec 
tacle  with  solemn  pleasure,  —  some  with  a  prayer 
at  heart ;  some  with  a  smile  on  the  lips ;  some 
with  a  joy  like  pain.  A  flock  of  homing  black- 


THE  GRAPE  GATHERING  211 

birds,  with  a  loud  clatter  like  cymbals,  broke  the 
contemplative  silence.  With  sharply  indrawn 
breath,  they  turned  their  thoughts  earthward. 
They  loaded  the  boats  with  the  fragrant  black 
grapes,  and  the  fleet  was  soon  off,  save  two  canoes, 
close  together,  well  out  in  the  stream. 

Madame,  solicitous  for  Jeanne,  paid  no  especial 
attention  to  the  rest  of  her  flock,  and  the  Dubois 
batteau  set  off  among  the  first.  Suzanne  had  inten 
tionally  eluded  her  mother  to  go  home  in  company 
with  some  gay  young  people.  On  the  shore,  over 
looked,  stood  Ferriby,  who  had  waited  like  a  docile 
child  to  be  given  place,  and  was  left  behind. 

The  owners  of  the  two  canoes,  one  of  birch- 
bark,  the  other  a  basswood  log,  saw,  and  deter 
mined  to  seize  upon  this  chance  so  'strangely 
given  them.  At  the  same  instant  they  started 
toward  Ferriby.  The  birch-bark  canoe  flew 
silently  as  a  feather  dropped  from  the  plumage  of 
a  high-sailing  bird  ;  the  basswood  pirogue  noisily 
cut  the  water  like  a  big  racing  fish,  and  came  on 
almost  as  rapidly.  Instead  of  keeping  on  to  the 
shore,  Bevard  changed  his  course,  and  jammed 
his  heavy  pirogue  against  the  stern  of  the  frail 
canoe,  with  a  vicious  glance  over  his  shoulder. 

St.  Vrain,  quick  of  eye,  and  quick  of  motion, 
with  instinct  as  acute  as  an  animal's,  read  his 


212  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

murderous  intention.  With  a  jeering  laugh  he 
whirled  his  boat  about,  and  Bevard  crashed  vio 
lently  into  the  bank  and  stuck  there.  Not  losing 
an  instant,  St.  Vrain  was  alongside  the  log  used 
for  a  landing,  and  said  :  — 

"  Ma'm'selle  Angele,  I  cannot  permit  you  to  go 
home  with  such  a  savage.  My  canoe,  as  you 
know,  will  hold  two.  Come !  " 

It  was  the  same  little  boat  in  which  Ferriby, 
cradled  like  a  babe,  had  been  carried  to  Manette 
Tache's.  She  did  not  hesitate,  for  she,  too,  had 
read  aright  the  evil  purpose  of  the  donne,  with  even 
more  thorough  comprehension  than  the  coureur. 

Bevard  was  wholly  savage  in  that  he  could  not 
easily  laugh ;  and  the  laugh  of  the  coureur  lashed 
him  to  the  quick.  A  blow  from  the  fist  he  could 
have  returned,  but  the  pitiless  jeers  of  St.  Vrain 
left  him  writhing. 

As  Ferriby  and  St.  Vrain  rowed  away  in  the 
dun  twilight,  the  coureur  called  out  gayly  to 
Bevard,  who,  ferociously  angry,  was  tugging  furi 
ously  to  loose  the  sharp  nose  of  his  canoe  from 
the  suctorial  mud :  — 

"  I  would  speak  with  you  to-night  at  the  tavern, 
mon  gar$on  !  "  He  listened  for  an  answer,  but  none 
came.  He  only  heard  from  far  up  the  stream  the 
joyous  singing  of  the  homeward-bound  villagers. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE  COUREUR'S  OPPORTUNITY 

WHEN  the  coureur's  strong  pulling  had  carried 
them  out  of  hearing  of  Bevard,  though  not  into 
sight  of  the  others,  he  felt  that  Providence  had 
provided  an  opportunity  for  which  he  had  long 
and  timorously  hoped. 

Aside  from  saving  Ferriby  from  perishing  in 
the  forest,  he  had  twice  rescued  her  from  the  im 
portunities,  or  worse,  of  the  savage  donne,  and  his 
interest  in  her  deepened  daily.  In  the  love  affairs 
of  such  a  man  as  St.  Vrain,  rivalry  gives  an  im 
mense  impetus.  Under  its  stimulus  what  was 
at  first  mere  benevolence  rushes  headlong  into 
passion.  In  this  last  encounter  with  Bevard  his 
feelings  had  reached  a  climax,  and  must  find  ex 
pression.  It  was  not  his  first  grande  passion,  by 
any  means.  He  had  exhausted  many,  fleeting 
and  gross.  This  was  tender  and  pure.  Yet  a 
timidity  he  could  not  account  for  kept  him  silent. 
His  natural  boldness  had  deserted  him  and  left 
him  abashed.  Perhaps  it  was  due  to  the  juvenil 
ity  of  the  heart  of  the  young  girl,  to  whom  all 

213 


214  ON  THE   WE^A  TRAIL 

maidenly  blandishments  and  fancies  seemed  un 
known.  Perhaps  it  was  an  unfamiliar  sense  of 
unworthiness,  a  tribute  to  her  vestal  purity,  that 
tied  his  glib  tongue  and  kept  him  silent.  Words 
huddled  on  his  lips  like  frightened  sheep  and 
refused  to  move. 

Ferriby  sat  gazing  on  the  dimming  sky  in 
une  douce  et  molle  reverie,  une  nonchalance  poet- 
ique,  "  a  gentle  and  soft  revery,  a  poetic  heed- 
lessness."  All  the  agitation  roused  by  the 
donne  was  soothed  by  the  sympathetic,  restful, 
bland  mood  of  nature  told  by  the  gentle  lapping 
of  the  stream,  the  low  twitter  of  sleepy  birds,  the 
placid  quiet  of  the  twilit  hour.  Presently  she 
spoke  softly,  in  keeping  with  it  all :  — 

"  Monsieur,  you  seem  always  to  be  my  cham 
pion.  How  can  I  say  more  than  that  I  trust  and 
love  you  ? "  and  she  looked  at  him  with  innocent 
confidence. 

"  The  purest  homage  of  my  heart  is  yours  for 
ever,  ma'm'selle !  "  he  cried  ardently. 

She  looked  at  him  with  startled  surprise,  like 
a  child  suddenly  shouted  at.  It  seemed  a  kind 
of  shock  to  hear  him  speak  with  such  warmth. 

"  You  love  me  !  Ah,  my  pure  one,  you  do  not 
know  what  the  love  of  woman  is  for  man,  nor 
his  for  her." 


THE  COUREUR'S   OPPORTUNITY  215 

Then  he  said  to  himself:  "  Bah,  fool!  You 
speak  to  an  infant !  "  Aloud :  "  You  trust  me  ! 
Such  words  make  me  your  champion  forever." 

"  Do  you  know,  Hilaire,  —  may  I  call  you  so 
now  you  are  so  dear  to  me?  —  more  dear  than 
Suzanne.  Yes,  even  more  dear  than  Jeanne,  my 
good  angel." 

"  Yes,  yes ! "  said  St.  Vrain,  overcome  with 
emotion.  "  It  never  sounded  sweet  to  me  before. 
Always  call  me  so,  Angele,  and  I  will  be  happy." 

"  I  was  beginning  to  tell  you,  Hilaire,  that  of 
late  I  have  dim  memories  of  those  for  whom  I 
yearn,  oh  yes,  till  my  heart  aches  and  the  tears 
fall.  But,  oh,  Hilaire,  it  kills  me ;  I  cannot  recall 
them  to  me.  I  cannot  see  their  faces.  Some 
times  I  see  dim  forms ;  and  I  hear  faint  voices 
too,  so  far  off  I  cannot  tell  where  they  are,  but  I 
think  I  must  have  known  them  once.  But 
whose,  Hilaire  ?  You  tell  me,"  she  said  be 
seechingly.  "  You  brought  me  to  O  Poste ;  oh, 
can't  you  —  can't  you  tell  me  ?  This  day 
when  I  ran  down  the  hill  a  little,  little  shadow 
went  before  me.  I  could  almost  grasp  it  with 
my  hand,  but  it  faded  into  the  river." 

"  Her  memory  is  awakening,"  thought  St. 
Vrain,  much  troubled.  "  What  will  it  bring  ?  I 
dread  to  think."  Then  he  said :  — 


2l6  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  M'amie,  who  would  tell  you  all  sooner  than 
Hilaire,  if  he  could?" 

"  Sometimes  my  thoughts  come  up  against  a 
something  like  a  baffling  wall ;  if  I  could  only 
mount  it,  beyond  would  be  revealed  all  I  so  long 
to  know.  Can't  you  help  me,  Hilaire  ? "  she 
said  piteously. 

u  Le  bon  Dieu  knows  I  would,  dear  one,  if  I 
too  could  see  the  wall.  But  alas !  it  exists  not 
for  St.  Vrain.  I  may  yet  be  led  to  it.  Then  my 
help  will  be  all  yours." 

This  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  and  after  a  few 
moments  she  observed  :  — 

"I  do  not  tell  these  things  to  Jeanne;  it 
troubles  her,  and  makes  her  spend  whole  nights 
on  her  knees.  Nor  to  Suzanne ;  she  only  jests 
about  it.  Elise  would  scorn  me,  and  call  me 
'  imbecile.'  No ;  only  to  you,  Hilaire,  I  feel  I 
can  tell  all  my  thoughts.  For  you  are  kind  and 
gentle,  and  listen  to  me  without  grief  or  laugh 
ing  or  scorning." 

It  was  a  most  moving  confidence,  a  most  art 
less  bestowal  of  trust,  and  it  bound  the  coureur 
to  her  with  even  stronger  ties  of  fealty.  But  pas 
sion  withered  in  him  under  the  chill  of  this  ingen 
uous  avowal  of  a  pure  and  passionless  affection, 
this  childlike  reliance  on  his  brotherly  love.  He 


THE  COUREUR'S   OPPORTUNITY  21 7 

felt  with  the  prescience  and  pain  of  a  lover  that 
if  passion  had  ever  possessed  her  heart,  it  was 
not,  nor  ever  would  be,  because  of  him. 

They  were  now  in  sight  of  the  fort,  and  a  few 
strong  strokes  brought  him  among  the  last 
loiterers,  young  people,  paired  as  innocently  as 
doves.  Angele's  absence  had  not  been  discov 
ered,  evidently,  and  in  the  confusion  of  debark 
ing  it  was  never  known. 

St.  Vrain  clasped  her  hand  tenderly  at  parting, 
and  said  softly,  — 

"  Remember,  m'amie,  you  may  always  trust 
your  devoted  Hilaire." 

"Always,  my  dear  good  champion!"  she 
answered  gently,  then  walked  homeward  with 
the  rest. 

St.  Vrain  looked  after  her  sorrowfully  and  mur 
mured  to  himself:  — 

"  She  hath  the  innocence  of  a  child  in  matters 
of  love !  *  Adieux  trop  malheureux  et  trop  par- 
fait  passion  / ' 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

AT    THE    TAVERN 

THAT  night  the  tavern  was  unusually  lively. 
Old  Jean  Blieu,  the  tapster,  could  hardly  fill  the 
pewter  mugs  fast  enough  with  tafHa,  peach 
brandy,  and  sour  red  wine.  A  great  fire  freshly 
fed  with  green  hickory  logs,  from  which  the 
sweet  sap  stewed,  blazed  in  licking  tongues  of 
flame.  A  delicious  fragrance  went  up  from  the 
apple-toddy  simmering  on  the  hearth,  profaned 
by  the  reek  of  tobacco. 

The  talk  going  forward  was  unusually  brisk 
and  lively.  The  habitues  of  the  tavern  could 
not  hope  to  join  the  haut  ton  of  the  village 
in  the  grape  gathering,  but  they  might  pick  up 
stray  fruitage  afterward,  in  the  guise  of  gossip. 
They  thirsted  more  to  hear  the  minutest  detail 
of  the  day's  adventures  than  for  their  cups.  Old 
cronies  at  ecarte  had  dropped  their  cards  for  the 
time.  The  billiard-balls  on  the  two  tables  at  the 
far  end  of  the  big  room  were  not  clicking  as 
usual,  but  lay  at  wide  distances,  while  the  players 

218 


AT  THE  TAVERN  2IQ 

leaned  upon  their  cues,  eagerly  listening  to  Felix 
Lutrell  relating  the  story  of  the  day;  elated  at 
being,  thus  vicariously,  a  hero. 

In  the  midst  of  it  all  entered  St.  Vrain,  affable 
and  unflagging.  "  Chut !  Mon  enfant,"  he  cried 
to  Felix,  "  you  do  but  spew  out  loppered  milk ! 
Speak  of  something  fresh !  Come,  my  friends  — 
all !  drink  to  the  success  of  my  voyage  ;  for  to 
morrow  I  set  out  again  for  Detroit,  or  —  who 
knows  where  ?  Hein  ?  It  is  a  long  and  weari 
some  journey.  Come !  come  !  drink  !  " 

He  filled  a  mug  with  taffia,  and  burst  into 
uproarious  song :  — 

"  And  let  me  the  canakin  clink,  clink ; 
And  let  me  the  canakin  clink : 

A  soldier's  a  man ; 

A  life's  but  a  span ; 
Then  let  the  soldier  drink." 

A  long  gurgle  followed  as  a  refrain,  for  there 
were  no  refusals  to  drink  to  the  coureur's  health. 
When  every  lip  had  a  cup  at  it,  when  every  head 
was  tipped  back  to  drain  the  last  drop,  the  donne 
came  in. 

"  Just  in  time,  my  good  friend,  just  in  time  to 
drink  my  health,  and  to  the  success  of  the  long 
journey  I  am  about  to  undertake,"  called  out  St. 
Vrain,  with  mocking  urbanity.  With  all  eyes 


220  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

upon  him,  —  for  even  these  good,  stupid  folk  be 
gan  to  see  that  the  donne  and  the  coureur  loved 
not  each  other  overly  well,  though  they  knew 
not  why,  —  Gaston  had  not  the  courage  to  re 
fuse  ;  so  that  he  drank  at  one  gulp,  with  a  grim 
ace,  a  glass  of  fiery  peach  brandy. 

"Was't  so  bitter,  mon  ami,"  jeered  St.  Vrain, 
"  that  thy  lips  curled  at  it  ?  I  fear  'twill  not  be 
thy  bitterest  dose,  mon  gar9on !  " 

The  coureur  delighted  in  baiting  the  donn£, 
and  Bevard  stood  glaring  at  him  ferociously  as  an 
animal  at  bay.  The  rustics  gaped  at  them,  but 
they  failed  to  probe  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 
They  perceived  that  the  quick  stabs  of  the  cou 
reur  went  home,  though  the  weapon  was  invisible. 
The  priest's  pupil  was  liked  but  little ;  for  was 
not  he  of  the  despised  Indian  blood,  and  worse, — 
of  the  hated  English ;  a  waif,  on  their  charity 
since  birth  ?  Alas  for  those  reared  by  the  hard 
hand  of  Charity,  she  leaves  a  brand  that  invites 
the  mean  disdain  of  the  small,  and  the  conde 
scending  favor  of  the  great ! 

But  St.  Vrain,  a  reckless  dare-devil,  who  every 
day  risked  life  with  a  gay  quip  at  its  possible 
ending,  was  the  favorite  of  all.  He  might  carry 
despatches  from  the  commandant  at  O  Poste 
to  the  English  governor  at  Detroit,  but  what 


AT  THE  TAVERN  221 

of  it  ?  Should  a  time  come  when  he  could  as 
sert  himself  to  some  purpose,  he  would  be  found 
one  of  them  —  a  Frenchman  !  Loyal  to  the  core 
to  his  countrymen ! 

St.  Vrain's  song,  St.  Vrain's  mad  spirits,  roused 
them  all  to  tumultuous  jollity. 

In  the  midst  of  an  uproarious  chorus  were  two 
arrivals.  Gradually  a  silence  fell  upon  them, 
broken  by  fuddled  snatches  of  song  or  tipsy  hic 
coughs.  And  every  eye  appraised  the  new 
comers.  Aye,  many  doubted  them !  the  coming 
of  strangers  to  that  out-of-the-way  place  was 
always  enormously  significant ! 

One  they  soon  classed.  He  was  the  servant  of 
the  other,  who  was  not  so  easily  ranked.  The 
master  might  be  a  French  officer  in  disguise. 

That  he  was  a  Frenchman  they  all  agreed. 
He  carried  himself  with  an  air  of  authority  and 
distinction  emphasized  by  his  garb  of  an  elegance 
not  usual  in  the  wilderness,  which  gave  grounds 
for  their  surmises.  He  gave  orders  to  the  land 
lord  with  a  haughty  air,  and  even  requested  St. 
Vrain  in  no  gentle  tones  to  relieve  him  of  his 
capote.  With  a  grimace  and  wink  to  the  com 
pany,  the  coureur  took  it  off  with  such  a  flourish 
that  the  corner  slapped  smartly  into  the  owner's 
face. 


222  ON  THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

"  Sacre !  fellow,  would  you  blind  me  ? "  he 
demanded  fiercely. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur !  I  am  not  used  to  serving 
as  a  lackey,  and  am  overly  awkward  ! "  With  a  bow 
of  mock  deference  he  added,  "  I  am  only  Hilaire 
Boniface  Louis  St.  Vrain,  at  your  service ! " 

But  in  such  surprising  manner  was  his  an 
nouncement  received  that  he  stopped  midway  in 
his  deep  genuflection  to  stare ;  for  the  man's  face 
had  taken  on  a  comical  blending  of  obsequious 
ness  and  embarrassment.  Quickly  recovering  his 
composure,  the  stranger  demanded  sharply  :  — 

"  Can  you  prove  that  to  be  true  ?  " 

It  was  the  coureur's  turn  to  be  astonished,  and 
he  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"  Prove  it !  Why,  every  man  from  La  Belle 
Riviere  to  Quebec  knows  Hilaire  St.  Vrain,  the 
coureur  de  bois.  Ask  Father  Gibault,  ask  the 
commandant,  ask  Monsieur  Dubois,  ask  'Sieur 
Vigo,  ask  any  one  here !  Who  else  should  I  be  ? 
Hein  ? " 

"  Does  he  speak  truly,  landlord  ? "  asked  the 
stranger,  appealing  to  old  Landais,  who  stood 
aloof,  grinning  and  rubbing  his  hands  over  the 
unusual  interest  of  the  occasion,  and  the  notoriety 
it  would  give  his  house. 

"  Yes,  yes  !     Certainly  !     I  have  it  from  no  less 


AT  THE   TAVERN  223 

than  Pere  Gibault  himself,  who  knew  the  lad  in 
Quebec,  when  he  came  in  the  train  of  the  Comte 
de  Foret ! " 

"  Well,  then,  monsieur,  I  would  speak  privately 
with  you,"  said  the  stranger,  turning  to  St.  Vrain 
with  an  air  of  great  respect.  "  Landlord,  an 
apartment !  "  he  ordered  superciliously. 

"  With  me  aside  ?  No,  no !  These  are  my 
friends.  You'll  speak  here  !  " 

"What!  before  these  bourgeois,  —  these  ca 
naille  !  on  a  subject  of  such  grave  importance  ?  " 

"  Aye ;  speak  here,  or  not  at  all ! "  persisted 
St.  Vrain,  stubbornly  ;  "  they  are  my  friends !  " 

"  I  have  no  choice.  If  I  must,  I  must !  "  The 
stranger  seated  himself  at  a  table  decorated  with 
sundry  wet  rings,  and  motioned  his  servant  to 
fetch  him  the  leather  saddle-bags  he  carried. 
From  one  side  he  drew  several  legal-looking* 
documents,  some  of  old  yellow  parchment,  some 
of  fair  new,  tied  into  neat  packets  with  red  strings. 

He  selected  from  among  them  a  letter  with 
the  seal  carefully  cut  around.  At  sight  of  this 
seal  St.  Vrain,  who  had  followed  all  his  move 
ments  coolly,  started  and  changed  countenance, 
from  red  to  palest  tan. 

His  friends,  eagerly  watching  every  move, 
grewr  fearful,  and  drew  closer  about  him. 


224  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

"  What  the  devil  had  St.  Vrain  been  up  to  ?  " 

"  Was  the  daring  rogue  to  be  torn  from  them 
and  carried  to  prison  ?  No,  no !  Hilaire's  friends 
would  never  permit  that !  "  —  they  speculated 
inwardly.  The  stranger  waved  them  back. 

With  deliberation  and  portentous  gravity  he 
opened  the  crackling  parchment,  the  tipplers 
meanwhile  wondering  whether  the  coureur  were  to 
be  shot  or  hanged  ;  surely,  such  gravity  meant  one 
or  t'other!  Every  eye  was  painfully  fixed  on 
the  stranger ;  every  ear  cruelly  strained  to  catch 
the  first  word.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  but  the 
"cluck"  of  the  clock  at  five  minutes  of  nine; 
and  the  sputter  of  the  brew  of  apple-toddy  now 
foaming  over  on  the  coals,  sending  out  a  stifling 
cloud  of  the  smoke  from  burned  sugar  and 
brandy. 

Enjoying  his  importance  to  the  utmost,  the 
stranger  prolonged  the  suspense  beyond  endur 
ance.  At  last  St.  Vrain  burst  out  impatiently: — 

"Sir,  if  you  have  ought  to  say  to  me,  speak  at 
once,  for  I  must  be  gone." 

"At  your  command,  sir!  You  are  Hilaire 
Boniface  Louis  St.  Vrain  ?  " 

"Yes!" 

"  Third  son  of  Antoine  Ren£  Charles  St. 
Vrain,  Comte  de  Boisvert  ?  " 


AT  THE  TAVERN  225 

All  eyes  rolled  from  the  speaker  as  he  paused, 
toward  St.  Vrain,  with  redoubled  interest;  for 
even  in  that  obscure  spot  a  title  had  a  pleasing 
sound,  a  certain  worth. 

"  As  I  have  said  !  "  the  coureur  briefly  answered. 

"  Who  came  from  France  in  1 76-  in  the  train 
of  the  Comte  de  Foret  ?  " 

"  The  same  !  "  —  impatiently. 

"  Then,  monsieur,  I  would  have  you  read  this 
document,"  handing  it  to  St.  Vrain. 

The  coureur  stumblingly  read  it  half  through, 
laboring  mightily  over  the  hard  words,  for  he  was 
but  a  poor  scholar.  It  told  him  in  the  circumlo 
cution  of  law  terms  that  his  father  was  dead,  and, 
failing  other  heirs,  —  both  older  sons  having  hon 
orably  departed  this  life,  one  in  the  Seven  Years' 
War,  the  other  in  a  duel,  —  that  he,  Hilaire  Boni 
face  Louis  St.  Vrain,  was  heir  to  the  title  and 
estates  of  his  late  father. 

St.  Vrain  showed  nothing  of  grief;  he  only 
seemed  a  trifle  more  serious  as  he  folded  the 
rustling  parchment. 

He  had  run  off  to  America,  now  ten  years 
gone,  with  other  wild  youths  of  the  noblesse  who 
had  followed  the  fortunes  of  le  Comte  de  Foret; 
he  scarcely  knew  his  father,  a  soldier;  and  between 
himself  and  his  brothers  there  was  small  good-will ; 


226  ON   THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

they  were  sons  of  different  mothers,  and  his  own 
had  died  in  his  childhood.  He  had  hardly 
expected  such  a  ticket  from  Fortune's  wheel,  and 
it  made  him  feel  strangely  regretful  for  what 
might  have  been.  He  broke  the  silence  of  the 
curious  crowd  by  saying  to  the  stranger,  — 

"  May  I  ask,  monsieur,  who  you  are,  and  how 
you  came  into  possession  of  these  family  papers  ?  " 

The  man  briefly  explained  that  he  was  a  notary 
from  Quebec,  Baptiste  Vaquette,  and  he  had  been 
induced  by  interested  persons  (for  a  not  trifling 
consideration,  he  omitted  to  say)  to  undertake  the 
tremendous  task  of  searching  for  the  heir  through 
the  trails  of  the  Great  Wilderness.  After  six 
months  of  wandering  hither  and  yon,  he  had  at 
last,  by  the  exercise  of  his  unerring  sagacity,  come 
upon  the  coureur's  trail  at  Detroit,  where  he  had 
got  his  clew  from  the  beastly  English. 

At  this  splenetic  expression  St.  Vrain's  face 
showed  shame ;  for  it  told  him  forcibly  how  far 
beneath  his  noble  birth  the  notary  esteemed  him 
to  have  fallen  —  to  have  become  a  despatch  bearer 
to  his  hereditary  enemies !  And  he  felt  it  indeed  to 
be  true. 

None  were  more  pleased  at  his  good  fortune 
than  his  cronies  at  the  tavern.  They  crowded 
about  him,  crushing  his  hands  in  their  strong 


AT  THE  TAVERN  22 7 

grip,  the  more  mellowed  by  their  frequent  drams, 
kissing  him  with  loud  smacks  on  both  cheeks. 

Gaston  Bevard  only  stood  apart,  with  envy, 
hate  and  malice  gnawing  at  his  heart.  There 
was  malison  in  the  flaming  of  his  fierce  eye  that 
he  dared  not  utter;  beneath  his  breath  he  stam 
mered  a  few  syllables  of  his  mother's  tongue ;  he 
turned  to  leave  the  room. 

St.  Vrain,  seeing  the  movement,  called  to  him : 

"  Hold  there,  my  friend  !  not  a  good  word  for 
me  ?  Wait !  I  would  walk  with  you  !  " 

Turning  to  the  landlord,  he  threw  on  the  table 
a  handful  of  English  silver,  and  said,  — 

"  Let  all  drink  to  my  good  health  again, 
Pierre,  —  or  rather,  to  my  long  life ! "  and  he 
laughed  carelessly  as  he  followed  Gaston  out  of 
doors. 

Outside,  the  aspect  of  the  night  had  changed; 
the  moon  had  set,  but  the  sky  was  thickly  fleck 
ered  with  stars,  from  the  great  steadfast,  blue 
planet,  to  the  gilt  sparklets  which  were  lost  to 
sight  while  gazing  on  them.  A  boisterous  wind 
had  risen  and  sent  the  frost-bitten  leaves  down 
like  a  pattering  shower. 

With  a  few  rapid  steps  St.  Vrain  overtook 
Bevard,  who  was  walking  along  the  road  to  the 
fort,  and  he  began  abruptly  to  speak  to  him :  — 


228  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  You  cowardly  beast !  Twice  —  yes,  three 
time's  —  have  you  tried  to  murder  me  !  And  but 
for  my  regard  for  Father  Gibault  I  long  ago 
would  have  ended  your  miserable  life !  Now  I 
demand  the  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman!  A 
gentleman  —  /  do  you  comprehend  ?  I  doubt  not 
I  lower  myself  in  asking  it  of  you  !  None  of  your 
skulking  Indian  tricks,  mind  you!  but  a  fair  fight, 
face  to  face." 

"  I'll  give  you  satisfaction  —  a  long  one  !  Aye, 
that  I  will!  I'll  —  "  choked  the  donne,  like  a 
strangling  dog. 

"  It's  a  little  unusual,  my  friend,  but  you're  not 
to  be  trusted  !  My  plan  is  that  we  fight  till  one 
or  the  other,  mayhap  both,  is  dead  —  dead  !  Com 
prehend  you  ?  You  agree  ?  " 

«I  do  —  but  —  " 

"  Hold !  I  have  not  done !  We'll  seek  out 
some  secluded  spot,  you  to  have  the  choice,  as 
becomes  the  challenged,  where  we  will  conduct 
this  combat.  But  there  are  conditions  under 
which  I  demean  myself  to  fight  you ;  otherwise 
I  fight  you  not,  but  I  kick  you  for  a  despicable 
cur,  and  let  you  go.  Yes !  " 

"  Name  them ! "  said  Bevard,  furious  at  the 
other's  bitter  contempt,  and  unable  to  speak 
further. 


AT  THE  TAVERN  22Q 

"  That  we  two  only  shall  meet  at  the  place  you 
may  select,  and  with  the  weapons  of  your  choice 
do  fight  to  the  death ;  but  before  we  begin  you 
must  promise  me  on  your  honor  —  if  a  craven 
have  honor  —  to  grant  two  requests  I  shall  at 
that  time  ask  of  you,  as  I  shall  likewise  grant 
to  you.  My  honor  is  pledged  to  it.  This  is 
unusual,  monsieur,  between  gentlemen,  as  you 
may  not  know ;  but  then  — you  are  unusual !  " 
And  he  laughed  softly. 

The  Indian  in  him  roused ;  Bevard  would  have 
flung  himself  furiously  on  the  coureur  and  have 
throttled  him,  but  St.  Vrain  sprang  lightly  aside, 
and  jeered  in  his  face.  Just  then  a  crowd  of  hila 
rious  soldiers  came  toward  them,  intent  on  gain 
ing  the  fort  before  tattoo  sounded.  Gasping  with 
rage  Gaston  managed  to  stammer :  "  Damn  you, 
I  will !  Meet  me  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
half  an  hour  before  sun-up,  opposite  the  '  Mam- 
melle.' " 

"  Without  fail,  monsieur ! "  courteously  re 
sponded  the  coureur,  as  he  walked  off  with  the 
soldiers. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 


THE  sun  was  not  yet  risen,  nor  did  he  pre- 
monish  his  coming  by  a  pictorial  display  of  red- 
tinted  clouds  or  searching  shafts  of  pale  yellow 
light.  All  was  sullen  and  dark !  A  thick,  gray, 
pall-like  mist,  which  dripped  in  heavy  drops  from 
the  faded  foliage,  met  and  shut  out  a  darker  gray 
sky.  Yet  signs  of  morning  were  not  lacking; 
fish  leaped  in  the  river ;  the  few  remaining  vireos 
twittered  intermittently;  the  loud,  raucous  call  of 
the  blackbirds  sounded  the  assembly  for  the  day's 
foraging  among  the  beech  woods ;  the  slow,  even 
hammering  of  the  woodpecker  which,  under  the 
spell  of  the  gloomy  surroundings,  sounded  like 
driving  nails  into  a  coffin ;  a  lark  that  had  delayed 
its  flitting  to  the  warm  south  poured  from  its 
grateful  breast  its  brief,  rare  melody;  all  wel 
comed  day,  dark  though  it  was.  A  blue  crane, 
with  long  legs  folded  back,  flew  in  awkward 
lunges,  with  a  croaking  cry,  disturbed  by  an  un 
wonted  sound  that  drove  him  in  a  panic  from 

230 


OPPOSITE  THE  "MAMMELLE"  231 

his  harborage  among  the  long  sedges  and  flags 
on  the  river's  brink. 

Early  as  it  was,  half  an  hour  before  sunrise,  a 
birch-bark  canoe  shot  lightly  as  a  swallow  across 
the  leaden  river,  seemingly  driving  ahead  of  it  the 
billows  of  mist  instead  of  cutting  through  them. 
It  was  the  coureur  de  bois,  and  he  had  scarcely 
made  fast  when  the  donne's  pirogue  was  drawn 
in  beside  his  canoe. 

No  time  was  trifled  away  in  the  interchange  of 
courtesies  between  these  two.  They  met  in  grim 
mest  silence,  and  exchanged  one  hostile  glance. 

St.  Vrain  spoke  at  last,  and  then  unwisely :  — 

"  I  hardly  looked  for  so  unusual  a  favor  from  one 
of  your  kind  !  You  do  me  great  honor,  monsieur !  " 

"  And  you  give  me  an  opportunity  I  have  long 
desired ! " 

"  Heh  !  to  scalp  me,  or  to  stab  me  in  the  back !  " 
jeered  the  coureur.  A  malevolent  look,  which 
confessed  him  to  murder,  was  the  only  notice 
Bevard  took  of  the  taunt. 

"  However,  to  business !  Between  gentlemen 
it  would  be  conducted  somewhat  differently,  eh, 
Monsieur  le  Donne  ?  " 

"  State  your  conditions  without  further  quib 
bling.  I'm  in  haste  to  be  gone ! "  observed  the 
priest's  pupil,  significantly. 


232  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

"You  are  hopeful!     Whither  —  to  paradise?" 

"  Yes ;  to  paradise  —  the  paradise  of  a  woman's 
favor,  to  speak  like  a  weakling  white ! "  said 
Gaston,  grimly  contemptuous. 

"  He  will  bear  watching  for  a  desperate 
wretch,"  thought  the  coureur.  "  You  came  here," 
he  said  aloud,  with  a  change  of  manner,  dropping 
his  jeering  carelessness  as  he  threw  off  his  leather 
jerkin,  "  under  promise  to  grant  me  two  requests 
which  I  was  to  make  known  to  you  on  this  spot 
which  you  chose.  You  may  think  me  whimsical," 
he  smiled  pleasantly,  "  but,  remember,  I  am  a 
Frenchman,  and  as  such  may  indulge  in  tricks, 
—  not,"  he  amended  with  a  sudden  access  of 
sternness,  "  of  your  sort,  however,  monsieur. 
Eh?" 

Bevard  made  no  reply,  but  under  the  mocking 
eye,  the  inveighing  words  of  the  Frenchman, 
seemed  suddenly  transformed  into  a  veritable 
savage.  His  lips  were  drawn  thin  over  his  tightly 
clinched  teeth  ;  his  eyes  grew  bright  with  deadly 
purpose ;  his  features  stiffened  into  masklike 
calm,  which  brought  into  full  relief  his  high 
cheek-bones  and  finely  aquiline  nose  ;  his  color 
darkened.  Where  a  white  would  have  paled,  he 
turned  to  a  copper  hue.  At  that  moment  he 
strikingly  betrayed  the  strongest  physical  mark- 


OPPOSITE  THE  "MAMMELLE"  233 

ings  of  his  mother's  race.  His  soul  was  surcharged 
with  its  most  brutal  qualities,  —  resentment, 
hate,  desire  for  revenge,  and  a  longing  to  inflict 
cruel  and  hideous  torture  on  his  tormentor. 

The  Frenchman  was  cool  and  wary,  and  at  an 
impatient  guttural  of  imprecation  from  Bevard, 
disclosed  his  conditions. 

"  We  agreed  to  fight  to  the  death  last  night. 
What  I  demand  further  is  this:  That  together 
we  dig  a  grave  near  by  the  *  field  of  honor,'  "  —  he 
grinned  sardonically,  —  "the  one  who  falls,  to  be 
decently  buried  in  it  by  the  survivor.  Should 
there  be  none  —  In  that  case  the  buzzards  and 
wolves  will  save  us  all  trouble.  Secondly,  that 
the  survivor  shall  swear  by  all  that  is  sacred, 
never  to  reveal  one  circumstance  connected  with 
this  morning's  work.  Comprehend  you  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  the  donne  smiled  flittingly, 
but  not  enough  to  throw  the  red  blood  of  a  paler 
race  into  his  saturnine  face. 

"  I  agree  to  all,  but  how  to  accomplish  —  ? " 

"  The  grave  digging  ?  "  interrupted  St.  Vrain. 
"  I  thought  of  all  that,  monsieur."  He  pointed  to 
his  canoe,  wherein  lay  a  spade  and  a  mattock. 
"  I  anticipated  your  acceptance  of  the  conditions, 
monsieur,"  he  added  politely.  "State  your  own 
terms,  if  you  please." 


234  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  Pistols  at  twelve  paces,  each  his  own  weapon," 
briefly  replied  the  donne. 

"  As  you  say,  monsieur !  " 

Bevard  mounted  the  low,  sandy  bank,  and 
sought  out  a  place  he  well  knew.  The  coureur, 
securing  the  spade  and  mattock,  slung  them  over 
his  shoulder,  and  followed  Gaston.  The  spot 
selected  for  the  duelling  ground  was  within 
sound  of  the  river,  a  stretch  of  smooth  sward, 
hedged  in  on  the  farther  side  by  a  strong,  close 
coppice.  Great  pale  green  mats  of  mullein  with 
next  year's  bloom  at  the  heart  lay  here  and  there 
on  the  flat  expanse  where  thus  future  life  and 
near  death  met. 

"  I  leave  also  the  choice  of  the  place  of  the 
grave  to  you,"  said  St.  Vrain,  cheerfully,  as  if  at 
the  most  ordinary  business. 

Bevard  walked  south  a  little  way,  and  penetrat 
ing  a  thicket,  found  a  spot  so  retired  and  shaded  it 
was  not  likely  to  tell  of  that  morning's  dark  work, 
and  himself  took  the  mattock  to  measure  off  the 
sinister  proportions.  The  coureur  had  followed. 

"  A  little  longer,  my  friend  !  Say  three  inches !  " 
observed  St.  Vrain,  coolly  regarding  its  limits. 

Implacable  and  vengeful,  Bevard  dug  to  half  the 
depth  with  the  mattock  and  the  spade.  Then  St. 
Vrain,  spitting  on  his  palms,  set  to  work  with  a 


OPPOSITE  THE   "MAMMELLE"  235 

will,  carefully  adding  the  three  inches  to  the  length 
that  Bevard  had  ignored.  When  two  are  so 
intent  on  a  performance,  it  is  soon  accomplished. 
Springing  out  of  the  shallow  pit,  some  three  or 
four  feet  deep  in  the  sandy  soil,  his  hands  planted 
on  either  rim,  St.  Vrain  brushed  the  crumbling 
earth  from  his  garments  carefully,  and  observed 
to  Bevard, — 

"  What  next,  monsieur  ?  " 

Gaston  made  no  reply,  but  returned  to  the 
duelling  ground  he  had  chosen.  He  took  a  posi 
tion  in  the  centre  of  it :  — 

"  We  will  each  walk  six  paces  from  here,"  he 
observed.  "You  may  count  aloud;  at  six  turn 
and  fire ! " 

For  an  instant  they  stood  back  to  back.  Each 
had  thrown  off  his  head-covering,  —  Bevard  his 
black  hat,  St.  Vrain  his  gaudy  wool  cap  with  its 
twinkling  gold  tassel.  The  tall,  lithe  figure  of 
the  black-clad  donne  towered  above  the  sinewy 
coureur  half  a  head.  Smiling  at  the  discrepancy 
between  them,  St.  Vrain  made  a  step  forward, 
counting  aloud,  — 

"  One  —  two  —  three  — " 

Then  occurred  one  of  those  small  interpositions 
of  Providence  which  put  to  naught  men's  plans  to 
carry  out  some  design  of  its  own.  St.  Vrain  had 


r;'j  OK  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

glanced  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  donne.  He 
saw  him  turn,  then  a  flash  and  crack  of  a  pistol, 
just  as  his  own  foot  rolled  on  a  bit  of  broken 
limb.  He  lurched  forward,  and  tried  to  regain  his 
balance;  his  weapon  flew  from  his  hand;  he 
sprawled  on  all  fours.  Through  the  space  he  had 
just  filled  whistled  a  murderous  bullet 

Quick  as  a  darting  snake-tongue  St  Vrain  was 
on  his  feet 

"Would  you,  coward! — beast!"  he  screamed, 
his  voice  shrill  with  rage,  "  murder  me  ?  n 

He  snatched  at  his  belt  There  was  a  flash  of 
steel  upward,  a  sibilant  breath,  a  downward  twirl 
of  the  knife,  and  the  sharp  point  plunged  clean 
through  the  miscreant's  neck.  It  was  a  trick  of 
knife-throwing  the  Indians  had  taught  him,  and 
his  skill  at  it  was  even  greater  than  theirs.  He 
stood  fiercely  regarding  Bevard,  his  breast  heav 
ing,  his  eyes  glaring  from  under  his  tumbled  black 
hair.  A  horrible,  mirthless  grin  of  satisfaction 
bared  his  white  teeth.  He  looked  supremely 
savage. 

The  doomed  wretch  made  one  frantic  snatch 
at  the  knife.  He  tore  it  from  his  flesh,  only  to 
lunge  heavily  forward  in  awful  helplessness, — a 
gory  carcass  from  which  emanated  a  sickening 
aura. 


rv- 


"  He  lurched  forward   .    .    .   and  sprawled  on  all  fours.*' 


OPPOSITE  THE  "MAMMELLE"  237 

"  'Twas  well  indeed,  thou  dastard,  we  shaped  it 
larger ! "  sneered  the  coureur,  as,  with  his  foot,  he 
turned  over  the  limber,  bleeding  corpse. 

"  How  I  detest  to  touch  this  carrion —  never 
much  but  that!  But  a  promise  is  a  promise, 
—  '  noblesse  oblige  ' !  " 

He  bared  himself  to  the  skin,  that  no  blood 
stain  might  betray  him,  or  sully  the  whiteness  of 
his  new  doeskin  breeches  and  jerkin.  His 
strength,  nurtured  of  the  forest,  was  immense. 
With  ease  he  dragged  the  body  of  the  hapless 
wretch  to  the  pit,  and  tumbled  it  in.  He  looked 
upon  it  an  instant,  and  with  one  of  his  swift 
changes  of  feeling  said  aloud :  — 

"  After  all  he  was,  in  some  sort,  a  man,"  and 
he  broke  twigs  from  the  bushes,  and  flung  over 
the  body  a  gay  red  and  yellow  shroud  of  the 
autumn  foliage.  He  piled  on  it  the  earth  and 
made  all  smooth  and  clean ;  rolled  logs  over  it  to 
keep  off  the  scurvy,  marauding  beasts;  and  no 
trace  remained  of  Gaston  Bevard,  the  donne,.but 
the  pool  of  bright  red  blood  not  yet  clotted,  which 
the  rain,  now  gently  falling,  would  dilute,  and  the 
greedy  earth  would  swallow  up. 

Hardened  to  such  scenes  as  this  in  which  he 
had  borne  a  part,  it  meant  little  more  to  St. 
Vrain  than  just  retribution  for  treachery.  The 


238  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

man  was  half  savage,  and  would  be  speedily  for 
got,  once  out  of  the  way.  To  him  the  splendid 
youth,  the  magnificent  temple  its  dwelling-place, 
the  body,  which  he  had  destroyed  but  could 
never  restore,  did  not  appeal ;  Bevard  was  a 
skulking  foe  to  him  and  nothing  more.  He  felt 
neither  sorrow  nor  regret  for  his  deed ;  satisfac 
tion  more  nearly  described  his  mood. 

"  If  a  man  of  honor  fight  you,"  thought  the 
coureur  as  he  turned  from  the  grave,  "  you  accord 
him  the  consideration  one  gentleman  should  an 
other, —  even  regret  when  fate  decrees  his  fall. 
But  such  as  yonder  — "  A  jerk  of  the  thumb 
backward  over  his  shoulder  meted  out  the  meas 
ure  of  his  contempt. 

He  walked  to  the  margin  of  the  river,  dragging 
with  him  the  spade  and  the  mattock ;  placed 
them  in  Gaston's  pirogue,  loosed  it,  and  in  an 
other  instant  it  was  on  its  way  down  to  La  Belle 
Riviere. 

After  carefully  bathing  he  reclothed  himself  in 
his  spotless  doeskin,  jumped  nimbly  aboard  his 
canoe,  and  glided  under  the  palisades  of  the  fort 
on  his  way  to  Detroit,  bearing  to  Hamilton  a 
report  of  the  weakness  of  Helm's  garrison,  just 
as  the  morning  gun  boomed. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

A   CHANCE    ENCOUNTER 

LANCASTER  had  found  Detroit  lively  with 
traders,  trappers,  and  coureurs,  who  had  gathered 
there  from  the  far  recesses  of  the  forest.  The 
rough  woodsmen  had  thrown  themselves,  heart 
and  soul,  into  the  rude  amusements  of  the  place, 
and  among  them  he  had  passed  unnoticed.  He 
had  made  it  his  first  business  to  visit  every 
Indian  village,  of  which  there  were  half  a  score  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  fort.  He  had  found  the  tem 
porary  encampment  of  the  fierce  Puans  close  to 
the  lodges  of  the  Ottawas,  with  whom  they  had 
patched  up  a  specious  friendship.  Not  a  bark  hut 
nor  wigwam  was  there  that  he  did  not  search  again 
and  again,  but  to  no  purpose.  His  quest  was 
but  a  heartbreaking  failure.  No  white  woman 
could  he  find  among  their  dingy  squaws.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that,  if  Ferriby  were  yet 
living,  she  had  been  handed  from  one  tribe  to  an 
other,  friendly  to  the  Puans,  to  make  naught  all 
efforts  for  her  recovery,  and,  according  to  their 

239 


240  ON  THE  WE-A   TRAIL 

custom,  would  be  reclaimed  by  the  original  cap 
tors  after  the  search  was  abandoned  as  hopeless. 
Maddened  by  this  thought,  desperate  with  misery, 
Lancaster  resolved  to  return  to  Kaskaskia  and 
cast  in  his  lot  with  Clark,  whose  plan  of  cam 
paign  was  rash  enough  to  be  to  his  taste,  lawless 
enough  to  suit  his  purpose,  and  rich  with  oppor 
tunities  for  vengeance.  His  enterprise  appealed 
to  him  as  being  of  sufficient  interest  to  distract 
his  mind,  and  of  danger  enough  to  bring  him 
speedy  death. 

In  this  mood  he  set  off  for  the  Illinois  country 
at  dawn  one  sharp  morning  of  early  winter. 
None  too  soon,  for  suspicion  was  beginning  to 
hint  at  him  as  an  American  spy.  He  had  hardly 
left  the  fort  before  a  company  of  Indians  came  in 
with  the  belated  news  of  the  American  victories 
in  the  wilderness.  A  few  hours  later  an  express 
arrived  from  Quebec  with  imperative  orders  for 
instant  departure  to  the  Illinois  country.  Twenty- 
four  hours  after  his  own  departure,  while  he  slept 
peacefully  in  his  little  pirogue  among  the  reeds, 
a  fleet  of  batteaux,  carrying  eighty  British  regulars 
and  five  hundred  Indian  mercenaries,  slipped  by 
him  on  its  way  to  the  fort  on  the  Ouibache. 

He  crossed  the  great  lake,  entered  the  Maumee, 
made  the  portage  at  Omee,  where  the  industrious 


A  CHANCE   ENCOUNTER  241 

beavers  had  dammed  the  stream  and  cut  off  the 
portage  by  nine  miles ;  and,  after  a  few  days, 
reached  the  upper  Ouibache,  and  launched  his 
canoe  for  the  easier  part  of  his  journey. 

It  was  the  cheerless,  uncertain  weather  of  early 
December.  The  intervals  of  wide  prairie  im 
pinging  on  the  river  were  not  altogether  bleached 
of  their  verdant  tint ;  but  the  tracts  of  forest 
through  which  the  river  winded  were  bare,  and 
the  chill  north  wind  caused  their  limbs  to  rattle 
together  like  rapid  drumming.  Every  twig  of 
those  on  the  shore  was  blackly  etched  on  the 
dull  green  waters.  The  sunshine  had  warmth  in 
it  yet,  and  Lancaster,  clad  in  thick  winter  cloth 
ing  of  buckskin,  with  a  capote  of  buffalo  hide, 
his  head  snugly  covered  by  a  coonskin  cap,  with 
its  long  striped  tail  dangling,  fared  well  enough ; 
he  was  too  wretched  in  mind,  at  any  rate,  to 
notice  physical  discomfort. 

He  was  approaching  the  We-a  towns,  where 
the  lodges  of  the  Shewanees  and  Weatenons  were 
pitched  in  friendly  community  at  the  mouth  of 
the  creek,  beyond  which  spread  the  We-a  plain 
to  the  confines  of  the  forest. 

From  this  point  the  We-a  Trail  led  to  O  Poste, 
a  five  days'  journey,  —  a  little  less  by  water,  helped 
by  the  strong  current  of  the  Ouibache. 


242  ON    THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

Just  above  the  villages  the  river  made  a  great 
bend.  On  either  hand  were  low  banks,  on  which 
a  few  beeches  grew,  whose  dry  dun  leaves  kept 
up  a  mournful  rustling.  Absorbed  in  gloomy 
thoughts,  Lancaster  was  roused  by  loud,  cheery 
singing.  The  song  seemed  to  him  heartless  fri 
volity  and  the  singer  an  odious  fool. 

"  Je  suis  jeune  et  belle, 
Je  veux  m'engage 
Un  amant  fidele." 

"'Un  amant  fidele!'  he  was  indeed  that,  but 
what  could  one  know  of  faithful  love  who  could 
bellow  of  it  like  that  to  every  passer-by  ?  "  irritably 
questioned  Lancaster  to  himself. 

A  few  strokes  of  the  paddle  brought  him  in 
full  view  of  the  villages,  and  he  beheld  a  boatman 
in  the  act  of  setting  off  down-stream.  A  group 
of  blanketed  Indians  were  watching  him  with 
friendly  interest,  admiring  his  perfect  handling  of 
the  skittish  birch-bark,  freakish  as  a  woman.  The 
voyageur  was  standing  in  the  careless  attitude  of 
the  master  of  his  craft,  the  veriest  egg-shell,  pad 
dling  with  one  long  oar.  He  was  a  remarkable 
object  to  Lancaster's  eye.  His  figure  was  mus 
cular,  lithe,  and  straight,  but  fell  short  of  his  own 
height  by  some  six  inches.  He  wore  a  gaudy 
wool  cap,  shaped  like  a  bag,  tied  at  one  end  with 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  243 

a  gold  tassel.  A  capote  of  exquisite  beaver  fur 
was  bound  closely  about  his  waist  by  a  leather 
belt  studded  with  silver,  through  which  was 
thrust  a  pair  of  pistols,  a  long  knife,  and  the 
inevitable  hatchet  of  bright,  keen  steel.  His  feet, 
slender  and  shapely,  were  clad  with  moccasins 
thickly  crusted  with  bead  embroidery.  His  leg 
gings  were  richly  fringed  with  shells  and  porcu 
pine  quills  stained  bright  red.  His  black  hair 
was  tied  with  a  gay  ribbon  into  a  queue,  and  gold 
earrings  dangled  from  his  ears. 

His  singing  revealed  white  teeth  glittering 
between  his  scarlet  lips ;  his  cheeks  were  deeply 
tanned  with  the  red  of  sumachs  flaming  in  them ; 
his  bold  black  eyes  showed  infinite  capacity  for 
fun  and  mischief.  With  the  off-hand  bonhomie 
of  his  kind  he  greeted  Lancaster,  as  he  overtook 
him,  with  the  vivacity  and  familiarity  of  an  old 
acquaintance. 

"Hello,  my  friend!"  he  called  in  French, 
"  would  you  have  good  company  ?  For,  by  all  the 
saints,  I  love  not  mine  own  too  long,  though  it  be 
of  the  best ! "  He  smiled  broadly  at  his  jest  at 
his  own  expense. 

"  If  it  suit  you,  it  suits  me ! "  replied  Lancaster, 
in  the  cool  Anglo-Saxon  fashion  that  sounded 
almost  gruff  after  this  lively  Gallic  greeting. 


244  ON  THE  WE~A  TRAIL 

But  the  coureur  de  bois  seemed  to  understand 
the  race  and  accepted  his  answer  cheerily,  and  as 
a  matter  of  course. 

They  dropped  down  the  river,  side  by  side,  like 
old  companions.  Not  two  hours  had  passed  till 
the  Frenchman  had  told  his  name,  —  Hilaire  St. 
Vrain  (without  his  newly  acquired  title) ;  his 
business,  coureur  de  bois,  just  now  carrying  pacific 
messages  to  O  Poste  (but  not  stating  their  source 
to  his  new  friend).  He  prattled  on  with  the  artless 
craft  of  the  born  intriguer. 

His  morose  companion  scarcely  heeded  him, 
and  made  no  return  of  confidence. 

"  Peste !  the  beast !  What  he  knows  he  will  not 
tell !  Perhaps  this  will  warm  his  frozen  blood 
and  loose  his  tongue,"  said  St.  Vrain  to  himself, 
chagrined.  He  drew  from  his  leather  pouch  a 
flask  of  famous  peach  brandy,  pulled  the  stopple, 
and  courteously  passed  it  over  to  Lancaster,  to 
whom  the  liquor  was  most  grateful ;  for  his  low 
spirits  had  reduced  his  circulation  till  the  damp 
north  wind  chilled  him  to  the  marrow. 

St.  Vrain  drank  in  his  turn,  and  said  aloud, 
"  To  your  good  health  monsieur  !  "  —  and  to  him 
self,  "  And  to  my  success  in  loosing  that  tongue  of 
yours." 

To  his  disgust  the  only  result  was  to  make  the 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  245 

stranger  ask  questions,  not  answer  them ;  nor 
would  he  drink  again,  though  urgently  pressed. 
St.  Vrain  drank  and  drank,  and  talked  and  talked. 
When  the  flask  was  low,  he  became  sentimental 
and  confidential. 

"  Helas  !  "  he  cried  tearfully,  "  thou  cold-blooded 
Saxon !  Thou'st  never  been  racked  by  the  cruel 
pangs  of  love  as  I  have,  I  swear ! " 

"  You  seemed  to  sing  cheerfully  enough  of  love 
only  a  few  hours  ago  !  "  observed  Lancaster,  dryly. 

"  Stupid  one  !  It  was  but  to  cover  up  the  heart 
rent,"  and  he  nearly  sobbed. 

Lancaster's  lip  curled  at  his  maudlin  humor,  and 
could  not  forbear  a  fling :  "  A  rent  soon  mended, 
I  think!" 

His  tone  was  contemptuous;  he  had  come  to 
regard  himself  as  the  only  faithful  lover. 

"  Ice-cold  blood  flows  from  thy  heart !  Do  you 
think  you  could  love  as  I  do  the  fair  Angele? 
Well  was  she  named  '  Angel,'  for  her  locks  are 
as  sunny  as  the  pictured  one's,  hanging  over  the 
altar  in  the  great  cathedral  in  Quebec.  Her  eyes, 
—  ah !  those  beautiful  eyes,  —  bluer  than  the 
edges  of  broken  ice,  as  crystal  clear,  but  as 
cold!" 

"And  who  possesses  such  charms?"  asked 
Lancaster,  idly,  humoring  his  tipsy  mood. 


246  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  Angele  Dubois.  A  tall  white  angel  she  is 
among  the  swarthy  girls  at  'Sieur  Dubois's ! " 

"  You  say,"  asked  Lancaster,  with  quickening 
interest,  "  that  your  sweetheart  is  fair  and  her 
sisters  are  dark  ? "  For  one  moment  dull  recol 
lections  troubled  him;  his  memory  recalled  the 
dim  vision  of  a  wan  girl  he  had  seen  through  the 
window  briefly,  and  her  frightened  shriek  sounded 
again  in  his  ear.  The  next  moment  he  was  as  far 
off  from  St.  Vrain  as  the  miles  that  stretched  be 
tween  them  and  O  Poste. 

"  Pig !  Imbecile  !  "  muttered  St.  Vrain.  "  I  can 
not  make  him  talk!  He  is  an  American  spy, 
then!  Very  well!  We  shall  see!" 

The  coureur  watched  Lancaster  with  an  eye 
far  from  dulled  by  his  potations,  which  in  truth 
had  been  liberal  but  of  little  effect  from  long 
habit  They  camped  amiably  together  that 
night,  snuggled  side  by  side  in  a  bed  of  leaves 
and  fir  boughs.  They  breakfasted  on  a  squirrel 
brought  down  by  Lancaster's  unerring  shot  with 
the  coureur's  pistol,  for  weapons  he  had  none 
except  his  long  knife.  They  set  off  again  with 
no  change  of  their  relations  of  the  day  before, 
except  for  the  greater  baffling  of  the  coureur  and 
the  increased  taciturnity  of  Lancaster.  The 
greater  part  of  the  day  they  glided  swiftly  down- 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER  247 

stream  together.  The  coureur's  curiosity  had 
grown  almost  beyond  the  limit  of  endurance,  but 
his  urbanity  did  not  fail. 

Lancaster  had  learned  all  he  cared  to  know  of 
the  coureur,  but  he  had  no  particular  reason  for 
not  confiding  in  him  beyond  that  of  common 
caution. 

At  last  they  turned  the  great  Pointe  Coupee, 
a  few  miles  above  O  Poste,  and  found  themselves 
in  sight  of  a  fleet  of  batteaux,  which  were 
mounted  with  cannon  and  crowded  with  red 
coats  and  Indians  to  the  number  of  four  or  five 
hundred. 

It  was  Hamilton,  the  "  Hair-buyer  general," 
bound  for  the  recapture  of  O  Poste.  The  British 
ensign  displayed  on  his  batteau  told  Lancaster 
this  before  the  gibing  voice  of  the  coureur 
cried,  — 

"  Mon  ami,  you  are  a  prisoner ! "  and  he  cov 
ered  him  with  a  long  pistol. 

A  little  creek  emptied  into  the  river  just  at 
this  point.  Its  mouth  was  covered  with  the  thin 
white  ice  that  forms  over  shallows.  Lancaster 
was  next  to  the  shore.  The  Frenchman  had 
mistaken  his  man.  Quick  as  a  panther's  leap  his 
long  oar  sprang  up,  then  down  it  crashed  on  the 
coureur's  wrist,  with  such  force  as  to  set  him 


248  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

screeching  with  pain ;  his  pistol  dropped  with  a 
splash  into  the  icy  water  of  the  Ouibache.  Before 
St.  Vrain  could  recover  his  wits  he  heard  a 
crackle  and  crunch,  and  Lancaster's  canoe  had 
smashed  the  ice  in  the  mouth  of  the  little  creek; 
he  had  bounded  ashore  and  was  free ! 

"May  all  the  devils  in  hell  catch  him!" 
groaned  the  coureur,  in  impotent  rage,  before  he 
could  think  to  give  voice  to  such  a  yell  that  he 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  fleet. 

Lancaster  found  the  trail  and  ran  for  his  life ; 
through  the  narrow  passway  between  great  trees, 
on  a  short  stretch  of  the  open,  over  a  morass, 
jumping  from  tussock  to  tussock,  down  the  un 
even  bank  to  the  long  level  where  the  fort  stood, 
up  to  the  very  gates !  The  sentinel  would  have 
stopped  him. 

"  Fool !  Down  with  your  gun  or  I'll  brain 
you ! " 

He  rushed  on,  leaving  the  sentinel  stupid  with 
surprise.  The  brief  winter  day  had  settled  to 
evening,  and  great  fires  were  alight  on  the 
parade-ground.  He  crossed  the  bright  space  to 
Helm's  quarters,  burst  into  his  presence  without 
ceremony,  and  gasped  out :  — 

"The  British  are  coming!  They're  within 
three  miles  of  the  fort!" 


A  CHANCE   ENCOUNTER  249 

Helm,  calm  and  cool,  as  if  he  had  just  heard 
of  the  coming  of  Clark,  commanded  the  long 
roll  to  be  sounded.  His  twenty  men  answered 
promptly.  The  boom  of  a  cannon  warned  the 
militia.  Fuel  was  heaped  on  the  fires.  One  of 
the  two  cannon,  which,  with  a  couple  of  small 
swivels,  was  all  the  ordnance  the  fort  could  boast, 
was  wheeled  in  front  of  the  gate,  on  which  there 
was  no  secure  fastening ;  the  gunner  stood  ready. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Helm,  aside  to  Lancaster, 
"  I  have  but  four  seasoned  American  soldiers  I 
can  rely  on.  The  French  cannot  be  depended 
on  to  do  the  work  of  trained  men,  but  I  am  de 
termined  to  play  a  brave  part." 

"  Command  me  as  one  of  your  own  soldiers, 
captain,"  Lancaster  replied  earnestly.  Without 
spoken  thanks  Helm  took  him  at  his  word  and 
sent  him  to  Lieutenant  Barnes,  with  orders  to 
take  command  for  ten  minutes,  and  retired  at 
once  to  his  own  quarters  and  wrote  as  calmly  to 
Clark  as  if  he  were  detailing  some  petty  busi 
ness,  the  following  letter l :  — 

"DEAR  SIR: — At  this  time  there  is  an  army 
within  three  miles  of  this  place ;  I  heard  of  their 
coming  several  days  beforehand.  I  sent  spies  to 

1  Verbatim,  Canadian  Archive,  Series  B,  Vol.  122,  p.  250. 


250  ON   THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

find  the  certainty ;  the  spies  being  taken  pris 
oners,  I  never  got  intelligence  till  they  were 
within  three  miles  of  the  town.  As  I  had  called 
the  militia,  and  had  every  assurance  of  their  in 
tegrity,  I  ordered  at  the  firing  of  a  cannon  every 
man  to  appear,  but  I  saw  but  few.  Captain 
Busseron  behaved  much  to  his  honor  and  credit, 
but  I  doubt  the  certain  conduct  of  a  certain  gent. 
Excuse  haste,  as  the  army  is  in  sight.  My  de 
termination  is  to  defend  the  garrison,  though  I 
have  but  twenty-one  men  but  what  has  left  me. 

I  refer  you  to  Mr. for  the  rest.     The  army 

is  in  three  hundred  yards  of  the  village.  You 
must  think  how  I  feel ;  not  four  men  that  I  can 
really  depend  upon,  but  am  determined  to  act 
brave  —  think  of  my  condition.  I  know  it  is  out 
of  my  power  to  defend  the  town,  as  not  one  of 
the  militia  will  take  arms,  though  before  sight  of 
the  army,  no  braver  men.  There  is  a  flag  at  a 
small  distance.  I  must  conclude. 

"Your  humble  servant, 
"Leo'd  Helm. 
"  Must  stop." 

Before  he  had  hardly  shaken  the  pounce-box 
over  the  letter,  he  flung  it  to  a  messenger  in 
waiting,  saying :  — 


A  CHANCE   ENCOUNTER  251 

"  Take  it  to  Lieutenant  Bowman,  who  is 
attending  a  fete  at  Colonel  Dubois's.  Tell  him 
to  lose  not  a  moment ;  to  go  at  once  and  deliver 
that  to  Clark." 

Helm  rushed  to  the  gate  where  the  gunner  stood 
by  the  gun.  Another  moment  and  the  steady 
tramp  of  feet  was  heard  as  the  British  crossed  the 
short  level  from  the  river  bank  to  the  gate. 

Helm  stood  with  lighted  match  in  hand,  him 
self  ready  to  touch  off  the  gun.  With  magnifi 
cent  bravado  he  ordered  loudly, — 

"Halt!" 

To  his  surprise,  his  command  was  obeyed ; 
the  sound  of  cadenced  marching  ceased. 

"  Surrender !  "  demanded  a  thick,  imperious 
voice  from  without,  —  the  voice  of  Hamilton 
himself. 

From  behind  the  frail  wooden  barrier  a  bold 
challenge  was  flung  to  the  army  of  five  hundred 
by  the  dauntless  Helm. 

"  By  the  God  of  Heaven,  no  man  shall  enter 
here  till  I  know  the  terms  ! " 

This  audacity  created  a  momentary  silence  :  — 

"  You  shall  have  the  honors  of  war ! "  the  same 
voice  answered. 

"  Then,"  cried  Helm,  "  I  surrender  the  fort  on 
that  condition  1 " 


252  ON  THE   VVE-A  TRAIL 

The  gateway  was  cleared,  with  a  flourish,  of  its 
one  cannon,  and  Hamilton's  army  made  entrance. 

Lancaster,  standing  near  Helm,  saw  a  look  of 
disgust,  at  thus  being  so  neatly  outwitted,  flit 
over  the  face  of  the  "  Hair-buyer."  His  chagrin 
was  boundless  when  he  learned  how  small  was 
the  garrison,  how  few  were  the  Americans ;  how 
he  had  been  out-generalled  by  a  backwoodsman. 

Not  more  than  a  score  of  prisoners  all  told, 
who  must  be  given  the  honors  of  war  by  his  own 
agreement!  In  this  case  scalping  and  massacre 
by  his  Indian  mercenaries  (of  whom  his  army  was 
composed,  with  the  exception  of  eighty  regulars), 
was  barred  by  his  own  promise. 

Hiding  his  mortification  as  well  as  he  could, 
he  halted  beside  Helm  and  took  his  proffered 
arms,  a  long  knife  and  pistol,  which  their  owner 
handed  over  with  an  ill-concealed  grin ;  and  the 
key  of  the  fort,  for  which  there  was  a  broken  lock. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE    PANCAKE   TURNING 

TIME  had  slipped  easily  away  through  the 
lovely  days  of  October,  through  the  frosty  weeks 
of  November,  into  the  wintry  days  of  mid  Decem 
ber,  diversified  by  as  little  labor  as  might  be ;  for 
the  villager  did  not  love  hard  toil.  Fetes  of  all 
kinds,  for  which  there  was  the  slightest  excuse, 
were  much  to  his  taste.  He  did  love  opportunity 
for  friendly  gatherings. 

The  coureur  was  greatly  missed  from  these 
social  affairs.  He  was  the  life  and  soul  of  merri 
ment  when  he  chanced  to  be  in  the  village. 
Many  were  the  regrets  at  his  continued  absence, 
more  prolonged  than  ever  before  ;  they  were  not 
aware  that  he  had  gone  to  Quebec  to  establish 
his  claim  to  his  title  and  estates,  and  if  possible 
to  embark  for  France  to  take  possession.  But 
there  were  no  sea-going  vessels  at  this  time  of  the 
year,  and  he  was  obliged  to  await  the  opening  of 
spring  navigation.  On  his  return  from  Quebec 
he  had  just  missed  Hamilton  at  Detroit,  and  had 

253 


254  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

followed  him  on  his  campaign  to  retake  the 
French  towns  in  the  Illinois  country.  Fond  of 
excitement,  it  would  help  him  through  the  inter 
val  of  waiting  before  he  could  set  out  for  France 
in  the  spring.  What  pleasanter  place  than 
O  Poste,  to  pass  the  time  in  ?  The  truth  was 
there  dwelt  the  one  woman  who  had  caught  his 
fickle  fancy  and  bound  it  fast  to  faithfulness. 

The  villagers  themselves  had  accepted  the  new 
regime,  much  as  if  they  were  outsiders  in  the 
affair.  To  be  sure,  the  young  men,  in  somewhat 
specious  enthusiasm,  had  joined  the  militia  with 
the  acknowledged  purpose  of  defending  the  fort 
should  such  necessity  arise,  and  had  placed  them 
selves  at  the  command  of  Captain  Helm.  They 
enjoyed  the  drills  like  children  romping;  and 
these  were  signals  for  the  whole  village  to  turn 
out  and  admire.  Is  it  surprising  that  vanity  is  an 
integral  part  of  a  soldier  ?  As  yet  they  had  not 
been  called  upon  to  give  actual  service. 

The  donne's  disappearance  caused  but  little 
comment,  and  no  regret.  He  was  always  a 
gloomy,  dampening  presence,  —  a  death's-head  at 
the  feast.  He  had  not  a  drop  of  that  Gallic  blood 
which  flitted  like  mercury  through  the  veins  of 
the  villager,  and  led  him  into  prankings  with 
the  abandon  of  childhood.  He  had  the  Indian's 


THE   PANCAKE  TURNING  255 

contempt  for  childish  romping  among  grown 
men ;  and  the  savage's  contempt  for  gallantry 
toward  women.  It  was  not  unusual  for  him  to 
disappear  into  the  wilderness  at  the  call  of  the 
forest-spirits  for  weeks  at  a  time,  to  return  shame 
facedly,  humiliated  at  yielding  weakly  to  the 
leadings  of  an  immaterial  force.  Gross  and 
material  he  was,  but  the  great  voices  of  Nature 
appealed  to  him  with  irresistible  power.  They 
thundered  to  him  in  the  storms,  they  awed  him 
in  the  mighty  winds ;  they  wooed  him  in  the 
beauty  of  spring,  in  the  whispers  of  nascent  foli 
age.  On  his  return  from  these  excursions  he  re 
newed  his  devotions  with  fanatic  ardor,  which 
soon  wore  out ;  but  he  realized  that  the  life  of  a 
religieuse  was  his  only  salvation  from  savagery. 
Again  and  again  feverish  asceticism  yielded  to 
Indian  stoic  fatalism  ;  it  was  a  never  ending  con 
tention  between  his  two  natures,  the  unsubduable 
Saxon,  the  untamable  savage.  One  moment  he 
was  a  creature  of  lofty  aspirations ;  the  next  fran 
tic  to  bury  his  face  in  the  entrails  of  a  yet  warm 
beast  and  to  gorge  on  it  till  glutted !  At  such 
times  he  would  slip  off  to  the  forest.  His  habits 
were  well  known  to  the  villagers,  who  looked  on 
his  waywardness  with  good-natured  toleration ; 
and  upon  this,  his  last  and  longest  disappearance, 


256  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

they  had  concluded  that  the  influence  of  the 
mother-blood  had  been  strongest,  —  when  is  it 
not?  —  and  that  he  had  joined  himself  to  some 
roving  band,  to  return  no  more. 

Therefore  his  continued  absence  was  no  longer 
a  subject  for  conversation  when  Madame  Dubois 
invited  the  haut  ton  of  the  village,  which  in 
cluded  the  greater  part  of  the  inhabitants,  to  a 
pancake  turning,  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the 
long  weeks  before  the  holidays. 

The  demoiselles,  EHse,  Suzanne,  and  Jeanne, 
each  in  her  own  fashion,  were  full  of  excitement. 
Even  Angele  was  moved  out  of  her  dreamy  calm 
to  something  akin  to  brightness.  For  once  she 
threw  off  her  habitual  apathy,  and  merrily  wreathed 
greens  and  helped  to  garnish  parlors  and  halls 
till  they  were  gay  as  at  the  Christmas  fete. 

All  was  done !  the  hour  of  five  had  struck. 
Evening  had  descended,  for  the  day  was  cloudy, 
and  light  had  failed  shortly  after  four,  and  they 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  first  guests.  The  cur 
tains  had  been  parted  that  the  light  within  might 
guide  their  guests  through  the  muddy  lanes  of 
the  little  town.  Madame,  rotund  and  short  of 
breath,  her  eyes  twinkling  with  satisfaction  from 
out  deep  cushions  of  fat,  like  the  heads  of  black 
pins,  was  arrayed  in  a  new  gown  of  homespun, 


THE   PANCAKE  TURNING  257 

gayly  striped  the  wrong  way  for  one  of  her  bulk. 
The  occasion  was  not  one  for  grand  toilette ! 

Monsieur,  at  her  right  hand,  was  clad  in  his 
second  best  coat  of  dark  blue  home-made  cloth, 
but  he  wore  a  fine,  beruffled  shirt,  foaming  from 
between  its  lapels,  and  his  queue  was  tied  with  a 
fresh  new  black  ribbon.  His  knee-breeches  were 
of  doeskin ;  his  stockings  of  blue  yarn  ;  and  his 
low  shoes  of  tanned  bull  hide.  His  manner, 
always  fine,  was  now  tempered  with  the  gracious- 
ness  of  a  condescending  host;  the  important  com 
mandant  was  thrust  into  the  background,  but  not 
forgotten !  oh,  no !  At  times  it  peeped  out  like 
a  painted  actor  from  behind  the  curtain  of  his 
urbanity. 

The  four  girls,  like  madame,  were  dressed  in 
homespun  of  a  plain  indigo-blue  color.  Elise 
had  contrived  for  them  neckerchiefs  of  white 
lawn,  such  as  the  fair  French  queen  wore,  in  which 
they  were  charming;  she  herself  looking  the 
stately  court  beauty;  Suzanne  a  sprightly  gri- 
sette ;  Jeanne  a  pious  postulant ;  and  Angele  a 
lovely  picture. 

Great  fires  of  walnut  logs  and  dry  hickory, 
combining  the  delightful  odor  of  their  smoke  into 
something  like  incense,  roared  in  the  wide  fire 
places,  outrivalling  the  flaming  candles  placed 


258  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

everywhere.  When  'Sieur  Dubois  opened  his 
house  for  a  fete  it  was  well  done !  Nothing  was 
spared ! 

The  first  arrival,  like  the  first  ant  leaving  the 
hill,  brought  the  whole  company  pell-mell,  singly, 
and  in  groups.  Panis,  at  the  door,  relieved  them 
of  their  sabots  of  sycamore  wood  (without  which 
they  could  not  hope  to  make  their  way  through 
the  deep  mud  of  winter)  and  helped  them  on  with 
their  buskins  of  deer  or  bull  hide. 

The  lowly  pendants  of  the  more  exalted  folk 
found  their  way  into  the  kitchen,  humbly  content 
to  share  in  anything  savoring  of  gayety,  a  phi 
losophy  that  helped  them  over  many  weary  days 
and  hard  experiences. 

Among  the  first  arrivals  was  Lieutenant  Bos- 
seron  from  the  fort,  who  brought  with  him  a  fine, 
towering  young  Virginian,  Captain  Bowman,  by 
title  and  name.  This  young  officer  had  been  so 
taken  with  the  stately  charm  of  Elise,  whom  he 
had  met  when  he  called  to  deliver  Clark's  de 
spatches  to  the  colonel  the  day  before,  that  he 
eagerly  accepted  Bosseron's  invitation  to  accom 
pany  him,  though  the  evening  at  the  fort  offered 
a  merry  prospect  at  piquet  and  tippling  one  of 
Helm's  famous  brews  of  apple-toddy. 

When  they  urged  Helm  also  to  go,  he  only 
laughed,  and  said :  — 


THE   PAN   CAKE  TURNING  259 

"'Every  dog  has  his  day!'  you  young  whelps 
must  have  yours  I  reckon ! "  and  no  persuasion 
would  induce  him  to  go. 

When  Bowman  appeared,  the  stately  Elise 
faltered  and  blushed  like  any  other  girl  of  twenty, 
and  at  this  sign  of  softness  the  young  soldier's 
heart  beat  high  with  a  desire  to  storm  the  strong 
fortress  of  her  haughty  reserve,  while  he  bowed 
with  perfect  gallantry  over  her  hand. 

By  six  the  company  had  all  gathered,  and 
Jeanne,  who  had  the  saving  grace  of  a  domestic 
turn,  aside  from  a  pious  one,  came  to  monsieur's 
elbow  and  imparted  something  to  him  in  a  low 
voice. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  attract  the  attention  of 
his  guests,  and  said  suavely,  — 

"  My  friends,  we  will  repair  to  the  kitchen, 
where  all  is  in  readiness  for  your  amusement" 

At  first  there  was  a  bashful  hanging  back ;  for 
they  were  on  their  best  behavior  at  the  comman 
dant's.  Then  some  one  plucked  up  courage  to 
follow  Monsieur  Dubois,  who  had  gallantly  led 
out  Madame  Du  Roc,  the  magistrate's  wife,  a 
skinny,  yellow  little  woman,  whose  tongue  set 
every  one  a-writhing  when  it  came  his  turn  to  be 
lashed  by  it.  It  was  not  altogether  gallantry  that 
had  inspired  monsieur's  choice  ;  she  was  a  person 
to  conciliate ! 


26O  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

All  followed  in  a  rush  !  the  young  people  last, 
like  the  sweet  residuum  in  a  glass  of  negus, 
giggling  and  simpering,  jesting  and  pushing; 
rude  from  a  mixture  of  joyousness  and  timidity, 
bashfulness  and  a  sense  of  freedom,  their  elders 
being  well  to  the  fore  and  not  able  to  reprove 
them  by  softly  spoken,  bitter  words,  or  sly 
pinches,  they  tumultuously  crossed  the  space  of 
ground  to  the  kitchen. 

Chloe,  the  black  slave  cook,  stood  by  a  table 
drawn  well  up  to  the  hearth,  her  ebony  face 
a-shine  with  the  vigor  of  her  efforts  in  beating  the 
batter  to  frothing  lightness,  a  great  earthen 
bowlful  of  which  stood  ready  for  the  contest.  At 
hand  stood  three  panis  who  were  to  be  at  the 
bidding  of  the  guests.  The  hickory  logs  had 
burned  to  a  point  where  a  smart  poke  would 
tumble  them  into  a  fervid  mass.  Drawn  to  one 
side  of  the  well-swept  hearth  was  a  flaming  heap 
of  coals,  which  a  pani  kept  aglow  by  fanning  with 
a  wild-turkey  wing ;  on  top  of  it  was  placed  a  big 
iron  griddle. 

"  Who  will  be  bold  enough  to  open  the 
contest  ? "  graciously  inquired  the  host.  There 
was  another  modest  hiatus,  then  Louis  Lutrell, 
the  village  wag  and  bottier  stepped  forward 
laughing :  — 


THE   PAN   CAKE  TURNING  26 1 

"  I  venture  my  awl  upon  it  that  I  can  toss 
higher  than  any  here  ! "  The  company  laughed 
politely  at  his  well-worn  joke. 

He  took  from  Chloe  the  big  wooden  spoon, 
whose  bowl  was  full  to  overflowing  with  the 
golden  batter,  while  one  of  the  panis  swabbed  the 
griddle  rapidly  with  a  bit  of  fat  pork  on  a  fork. 
Louis  dribbled  a  line  of  pale  yellow  dots  across 
the  clean  white  floor,  but  managed  to  spread  a 
neat  round  cake  on  the  griddle.  He  turned 
boastfully  to  the  company,  but  alas  for  vanity! 
The  odor  of  scorching  assailed  his  nose.  His 
cake  was  burned  and  he  was  barred  from  turning ! 
A  roar  of  laughing  greeted  his  failure,  and  the 
cake  was  scraped  off  for  the  dogs. 

Next  came  pretty  Felice  Boncour,  who  man 
aged  blushingly  to  turn  her  cake,  but  it  slipped 
from  the  knife-blade  in  a  roll,  which  made  the 
youngsters  titter. 

At  this  moment  a  diversion  was  made  by  the 
opening  of  the  door,  and  the  noisy  entrance  of 
the  coureur,  who  had  been  away  for  many  weeks. 

Now,  St.  Vrain  had  come  for  the  especial 
purpose  of  warning  them  of  the  coming  of  the 
British,  whose  heavy  batteaux  he  had  swiftly 
passed  and  had  reached  the  town  a  little  after 
Lancaster.  But  when  he  saw  all  this  jollity,  he 


262  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

had  not  the  heart  to  break  in  upon  it  with  such 
dire  news. 

"Poor  devils!"  he  said  to  himself,  "it  will 
come  soon  enough.  St.  Vrain  will  not  be  the 
one  to  distress  his  friends ! "  and  he  remained 
silent. 

"  Welcome,  Monsieur  St.  Vrain,  welcome  !  " 
arose  on  every  hand. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  welcome  you  heartily !  " 
said  the  host,  with  much  affability. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  monsieur  not  '  le  comte '  here 
among  old  friends  !  St.  Vrain,  le  coureur  de  bois, 
at  your  service !  " 

"  Let  him  try  pancake  turning !  Now  for  the 
griddle,  St.  Vrain  ! "  they  clamored  loudly. 

"No,  no!  Not  yet,  my  hand  is  stiff  —  eh  — 
ah  —  with  cold!  I've  but  just  dropped  the 
oar.  That  alone  would  bring  defeat !  " 

"  Do  you  come  from  Detroit  ? "  asked  Colonel 
Dubois  aside,  not  able  to  hide  his  anxiety,  for  he 
was  in  Helm's  confidence. 

"  I  come  from  the  We-a  towns,  monsieur.  All 
was  quiet  there  !  "  evasively  answered  the  coureur, 
and  a  curiously  stubborn  look  replaced  the  smile 
on  his  lips.  "  But  I  would  make  my  devoirs  to 
the  ladies,  monsieur.  Pardon  !  "  And  he  retired, 
leaving  the  commandant  baffled  and  disturbed. 


THE   PANCAKE  TURNING  263 

St.  Vrain's  eye  roved  over  the  company,  and 
after  a  time  it  found  Ferriby  out.  She  was 
seated  on  a  wooden  bench  in  a  dusky  corner, 
watching  the  gay  scene  rather  wearily.  He  went 
to  her,  and  said  diffidently :  — 

"  I  am  most  pleased  to  see  you  again,  after  so 
long  a  parting,  ma'm'selle ! "  He  gazed  at  her 
wistfully,  as  if  he  had  hoped  for,  and  had  failed 
to  receive,  some  special  sign  of  welcome  from  her. 

"Have  you  been  long  away,  monsieur?"  she 
inquired  with  mild  surprise. 

"  What  an  unkind  question ! "  he  exclaimed  a 
little  bitterly.  "  Is  it  possible  you  have  not  even 
known  of  my  absence  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  monsieur.  I  remember  now ! 
But  you  know  my  mind  is  always  busy  with 
something  I  cannot  quite  recall.  These  dim 
memories  trouble  me  day  and  night.  They  will 
not  let  me  be  happy!  They  made  me  forget 
even  you,  Hilaire,  my  best  friend !  " 

St.  Vrain  looked  sadly  at  her :  "  Let  me  make 
you  happy ! "  almost  broke  from  his  lips ;  then  he 
seated  himself  quietly  at  her  side,  when  she  art 
lessly  made  room  for  him. 

"  Sometimes  I  almost  recall  what  it  is  I  so  long 
to  remember ;  then  it  is  gone,  and  does  not  come 
back  for  weary  weeks  to  pain  me  as  before. 


264  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

Can't  you  tell  me,  monsieur,  what  so  troubles 
me?  You  brought  me  here!" 

"  No,  m'amie,  not  I,"  he  said  hastily,  "  I  know 
no  more  about  you  than  the  princess  did  of  the 
babe  she  found  in  the  bulrushes  ! " 

She  smiled  sadly,  then  threw  off  her  mood 
of  retrospection,  and  said  with  an  attempt  at 
brightness :  — 

"  Why  are  you  not  joining  in  the  sport  ?  We 
all  know  that  in  everything  he  attempts,  le 
comte "  —  and  she  smiled  as  she  used  his  title 
for  the  first  time  —  "  comes  out  best." 

"  I  am  Hilaire,  the  coureur,  here ;  nor  do  I 
succeed  at  all  where  most  I  wish  to ! "  he  replied 
almost  testily. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  inquiringly.  Urged 
by  some  impulse  he  could  not  control,  he  said  in 
a  low,  agitated  voice :  — 

"  I  mean  I  cannot  make  you  care  for  me, 
Angele!" 

"  Not  care  for  you ! "  she  echoed  in  surprise. 
"  Am  I  not  most  beholden  to  you  for  life  itself  ? 
Not  care,  monsieur!  I'd  be  most  ungrateful  — 
as  ungrateful  as  the  wolf  —  did  I  not !  " 

He  almost  groaned  as  he  turned  away  his  face ; 
Angele  seemed  incapable  of  comprehending  his 
state  of  mind.  Too  chivalrous  to  pursue  one  so 


THE   PANCAKE  TURNING  265 

stricken,  he  gently  thanked  her  and  withdrew. 
He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  he  met 
gentle  Jeanne  coming  toward  him  with  a  steam 
ing  glass  of  apple-toddy. 

"  Monsieur,  I  overheard  you  say  that  you  had 
just  arrived  by  the  river.  I  fear  you  may  suffer 
from  a  cold  if  you  do  not  drink  something  heating." 

She  handed  him  the  toddy,  which  he  drank 
without  demur.  It  at  once  revived  his  dampened 
spirits ;  his  gaze  followed  Jeanne  when  she  bore 
away  the  empty  glass,  and  he  said  to  himself :  — 

"  Too  fine  a  maid  for  a  cloister  when  she  can 
so  easily  warm  the  heart  of  a  man  by  a  word  "  — 
writh  a  grimace  —  "  and  a  cup.  There," — nodding 
toward  the  listless  Angele, —  "seems  no  hope! 
Why  not  rob  the  cloister  ? "  and  he  laughed  as 
he  made  his  way  to  the  hearth.  In  another 
moment  a  shout  of  merriment  arose ;  for  St. 
Vrain,  with  his  left  hand,  had  tossed  a  pancake 
highest  and  neatest,  and  it  had  returned,  right 
side  up,  to  the  griddle,  with  a  loud  hiss. 

Captain  Bowman,  standing  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hearth  in  silent  attendance  on  Elise, 
observed  to  her :  — 

"I  do  not  like  the  presence  of  that  coureur 
fellow  here.  It  forebodes  nothing  good  to  us! 
He  seems  a  bird  of  ill-omen  ! " 


266  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Elise  smiled,  well  content,  for  she  attributed 
his  words  to  jealousy.  She  looked  up  archly 
into  the  troubled  face  of  the  tall  young  Vir 
ginian,  and  said  with  pretended  seventy :  — 

"  Oh,  for  shame  !  Afraid  of  the  count !  You'd 
make  two  of  him  !  " 

"  Not  in  that  way  do  I  fear  him,  or  any  man, 
Miss  Elise.  I  only  mistrust  that  he  may  make  you 
forget  me !  for  this  very  night  I  return  to  Kaskas- 
kia.  But  for  the  delay  of  the  scouts  in  returning, 
I  should  even  now  be  on  my  way.  See  how  I 
trust  you,  whom  I  have  seen  but  twice.  What  I 
have  said  must  be  a  secret  between  us." 

Her  glance  fell,  her  proud  face  flushed,  and' 
she  murmured  in  a  tone  enticingly  gentle, 
humbly  as  a  maid  who  feels  the  thrill  of  first 
love :  — 

"  I  am  honored,  Monsieur  Captain,  beyond  my 
deserts,  by  your  confidence,  and  shall  keep  it 
sacred."  She  looked  up  earnestly  into  his  deep 
blue  eyes  and  fair  face  as  he  leaned  over  her 
from  his  great  stature,  with  a  new  feeling  soften 
ing  her  own  black  eyes,  and  coloring  her  dark 
cheek,  —  a  look  that  roused  him,  and  he  half 
stretched  out  his  hand,  then  drew  it  back,  as 
there  was  a  general  movement  toward  the  salle 
a  manger.  The  kitchen  recked  with  the  odor  of 


THE   PANCAKE  PARTY  267 

fried  pancakes,  and  was  blue  with  smoke  of 
burned  grease.  The  great  bowl  of  batter  was 
empty. 

St.  Vrain  led  the  laughing  procession  by  right 
of  having  tossed  the  pancake  highest,  carrying 
aloft  a  great  steaming  pile  on  a  huge  pewter 
platter,  to  be  the  piece  de  resistance  of  the  feast. 

All  were  snugly  seated,  and  the  cakes  and 
maple  syrup  were  circulating,  when  at  one  and 
the  same  moment  a  gun  boomed  from  the  fort, 
and  a  soldier  in  a  tattered  American  uniform 
burst  into  the  room  without  ceremony. 

"  Lieutenant  Bosseron,  your  presence  is  de 
manded  at  the  fort  !  The  British  are  in  sight 
of  the  town  by  the  river !  " 

All  were  struck  with  consternation.  St.  Vrain 
alone  showed  no  surprise. 

Bowman,  cool  and  alert,  approached  the  mes 
senger  before  the  awe-struck  company  rallied,  and 
demanded  in  a  low  voice :  — 

"  Have  you  anything  for  me  ?  " 

A  letter  was  pushed  into  his  hand,  and  before 
the  British  had  hardly  landed  he  was  on  his  way 
to  Kaskaskia,  and  to  Clark. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE    "HAIR-BUYER    GENERAL" 

THE  second  day  after  the  capitulation  of  the 
fort  and  village,  Hamilton  required  every  inhabit 
ant  to  renew  his  fealty  to  the  British  king. 
Either  the  failure  of  the  militia  to  come  to  the 
aid  of  Helm  mitigated  Hamilton's  severity 
toward  them ;  or  he  had  had  orders  from  higher 
authority  not  to  use  extreme  measures  with  a 
people  easily  placated  by  plausible  promises  and 
honeyed  words. 

Nevertheless,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  long  arm 
of  authority,  he  required  them  to  subscribe  to  the 
most  humiliating  oaths  and  allegations.  The 
entire  village  of  six  hundred  souls  were  com 
pelled  to  repair  to  the  little  church  and  by  word 
of  mouth,  or  by  sponsors,  to  abjectly  confess  that 
they  had  been  very  undutiful  hitherto,  and  hum 
bly  to  ask  forgiveness  of  God  and  of  their  rightful 
sovereign,  King  George.  A  drastic  draught  this 
second  dose  of  British  bitters !  But  they  swal 
lowed  it,  not  without  the  making  of  wry  faces 
and  heaving  of  stomachs. 

268 


THE  "HAIR-BUYER  GENERAL"  269 

Perhaps  the  worst  punishment  Hamilton  in 
flicted  was  the  hard  labor  he  required  of  them. 
They  were  compelled  to  construct  barracks  for 
four  hundred  men ;  cut  and  dress  logs,  and  erect 
two  new  blockhouses  and  a  guard-house ;  alter 
and  double  the  stockades,  making  them  eleven 
feet  high ;  build  new  batteaux ;  lay  a  foot  of 
gravel  all  over  the  parade-ground ;  and  sink  two 
new  wells.  Strangely  enough  the  fort  had 
hitherto  depended  on  a  spring  on  the  river 
bank.  When  all  these  improvements  should 
have  been  finished  (which  labor  would  last  well 
through  the  winter)  "  Sackville,"  as  it  was  rechris- 
tened,  would  be  stronger  and  better  than  before. 
But  this  enforced  labor  was  the  best  possible 
means  Hamilton  could  have  taken  to  crystallize 
their  atomic  loyalty  to  the  Americans.  They 
paid  in  sweat  for  their  defection.  Helm  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  how  they  smarted  under  the 
humiliation  of  their  position ;  and  how  surely 
Hamilton,  while  strengthening  the  fort,  was 
weakening  his  influence  over  them. 

General  Hamilton  was  not  a  man  of  fine  dis 
cernment,  but  even  he  saw,  at  last,  that  he  had 
gone  too  far,  and  must  regain  their  good-will  by 
some  means. 

He  shrewdly  hit  upon  a  plan  most  certain  to 


2/0  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

please  these  easily  mollified  villagers.  He  would 
give  a  ball  on  Christmas  night  in  the  new  quar 
ters,  the  interior  of  which  was  one  vast  room. 
His  urbane  mood  reached  a  climax,  when  a  forag 
ing  party  of  savages,  headed  by  Ah-mah-nac-o, 
came  in l  bringing  with  them  eighty  captives  and 
one  hundred  and  sixty-five  scalps  of  their  help 
less  victims ;  among  them  were  the  coarse  locks 
of  stalwart  men,  the  long,  thin,  silvery  tresses  of 
old  women,  the  brown  silken  curls  of  maidens, 
even  the  lint  locks  of  babes ! 

He  gave  to  these  wretches  the  awards  agreed 
upon,  —  taffia,  blankets,  powder,  and  shot,  —  and 
had  the  grisly  spoils  stowed  away  in  some  odd 
corner. 

Very  shortly  after  his  arrival  at  the  fort  he  had 
separated  into  small  bands  these  five  hundred 
Indians,  who  had  formed  the  greater  part  of  his 
army,  and  sent  them  on  maurauding  expeditions 
against  the  frontier,  while  the  eighty  white  regu 
lars  and  the  twenty-one  prisoners  of  war  remained 
at  the  fort. 

Lancaster  standing  by,  in  the  light  of  the  big 
log  fire  built  on  the  parade-ground  for  the  Indians, 
who  hated  the  close  confinement  of  quarters,  be 
held  this  ghastly  trafficking  with  sickening  horror, 

1Haldeman  Papers,  Quebec  Archives. 


THE   "HAIR-BUYER   GENERAL"  2/1 

which  gave  place  to  rage.  He  could  scarcely  re 
frain  from  rushing  upon  the  monster  war  chief,  in 
whom  he  recognized  Ah-mah-nac-o,  snatching 
his  hatchet  and  sinking  it  in  his  brain  first,  then 
in  Hamilton's. 

The  red  light  from  the  fire,  the  wild  savages, 
the  accursed  bartering,  were  as  weirdly  horrible  as 
a  scene  in  hell.  The  fiendish  satisfaction  of  the 
savage,  the  satanic  craft  of  the  white  men,  —  who 
in  counting  flung  these  pitiful  human  relics  into 
a  tangled  heap  on  the  ground  like  so  many  pelts 
of  wolves  or  skunks,  —  were  inhuman,  devilish. 

Lancaster's  throat  swelled  and  ached  with  a 
misery  too  great  for  tears.  His  blood  rushed 
through  his  heart  so  fiercely  as  to  nearly  burst  it. 
His  teeth  clinched.  His  muscles  knotted,  bracing 
for  vengeful  action,  when  a  hand  firmly  gripped 
his  shoulder. 

"  Caution !  caution  !  boy.  What  is  one  toma 
hawk  to  fifty  ? "  said  a  stranger  to  him,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  will  not  bear  it  without  striking  a  blow ! 
Villains  !  murderers  !  —  "  and  further  speech  was 
cut  off  by  the  same  hand  laid  upon  his  lips. 

"  To  what  end  is  all  this  rage  ?  "  calmly  asked 
the  man  whose  hand  had  silenced  him. 

"  To  avenge  those  !  "    Lancaster  pointed  to  the 


2/2  ON  THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

pile  of  scalps,  some  of  which  lay  matted  with 
gouts  of  blood,  scarcely  cold ;  others  dry  like 
rustling  parchment,  —  these  latter  they  had  ob 
tained  by  trading  with  other  tribes.  One  had 
fallen  from  the  pile  and  lay  spread  out  on  the 
ground,  without  a  stain,  like  a  silvery  aureole 
around  a  wintry  moon,  —  an  old,  old  woman's 
beautiful  white  hair.  A  savage  kicked  it  upon 
the  pile.  Lancaster  looked  fiercely  into  his  face ; 
it  was  the  Yellow  Wolf.  He  sprang  toward  him, 
with  a  cry  like  the  snarling  of  an  animal,  and 
snatched  the  silvery  scalp. 

A  flouting  voice  called  out  in  French :  — 
"  Not  so  fast,  my  fine  fellow.  Would  you 
have  a  love-lock  ?  Take  one  of  a  color  more  in 
keeping  with  your  years.  This  is  his  gracious 
Majesty's  —  King  George's."  The  man  looked 
mockingly  into  Lancaster's  twitching  face.  Lan 
caster  glared  at  him,  and  recognizing  him, 
snatched  St.  Vrain's  own  knife  from  his  belt,  and 
would  have  plunged  it  into  the  inhuman  jester's 
heart.  He  flung  up  his  hand  clutching  the  knife 
for  force  to  drive  it  home,  but  before  it  could 
descend  he  was  whirled  about  and  dragged  away. 
"  You  must  have  suffered  cruelly,  my  lad,  to  so 
far  forget  yourself.  Your  life  is  at  stake  for  at 
tempting  to  strike  one  of  Hamilton's  mercenaries, 


THE  "HAIR-BUYER   GENERAL"  2/3 

of  all  whom  St.  Vrain  is  prime  favorite.  It  was 
lucky,  indeed,  that  the  general's  back  was  turned, 
and  that  he  saw  you  not,  rash  youth.  Your 
chance  would  not  have  been  worth  a  bad  penny. 
You  would  have  been  brained  like  a  mad  wolf. 
St.  Vrain,  though  a  coureur  in  English  pay,  is  a 
man  of  spirit  and  has  a  sense  of  fair  play.  Him 
we  can  trust." 

"  Suffered  !  Great  God,  how  I  have  suffered!  " 
burst  out  Lancaster,  heedless  of  all  but  that  one 
word  in  the  man's  long  tirade.  "  We  have  been 
harried  like  wild  beasts;  driven  before  these  red 
devils,  —  for  what?  Because  we  would  seek  a 
peaceful  home  in  the  wilderness ;  and  our  people 
would  throw  off  the  yoke  of  bondage  to  such  as 
he ! "  pointing  with  bitter  hate  toward  Hamilton. 

"  Be  calm,  my  friend,  be  calm !  You  speak  in 
extreme  heat,  under  great  provocation,  —  but  it 
will  not  be  overlooked  on  that  account,  —  and 
with  the  bitter  grief  of  a  young  heart.  When  it 
ages  in  such  scenes,  as  mine  has,  you  will  learn 
to  bear  silently.  God  only  knows  how  bitter  the 
burden ! "  he  muttered ;  then  resumed  aloud, 
"  All  Englishmen  are  not  monsters  such  as 
he." 

"  Who  are  you  that  dare  take  his  part  ? "  de 
manded  Lancaster,  hotly. 


2/4  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

"  Are  you  an  American  ?  "  questioned  the  man 
cautiously,  by  way  of  answer. 

"Yes;  and  a  prisoner  to  that  inhuman 
wretch." 

They  had  walked  away  to  a  considerable  dis 
tance  from  where  the  trafficking  was  going  on, 
but  it  was  clearly  visible  to  them  in  the  firelight, 
while  they  were  in  shadow,  and  unnoticed  in  the 
stir  and  bustle. 

"  Moderate  your  wrath.  I  tell  you  it  will  do 
no  good.  It  is  a  waste  of  power.  Save  yourself 
for  a  time  when  this  energy,  now  squandered,  will 
count.  That  will  be  soon  !  " 

"  Who  are  you,  to  speak  so  boldly  ?  " 

"  I  am  Vigo,  the  trader,  and  I  was  captured  in 
sight  of  the  fort  yesterday,  and  all  my  goods  con 
fiscated."  He  dropped  his  voice  to  the  faintest 
tone.  "  But  I  am  just  come  from  Clark,  com 
missioned  to  learn  the  strength  of  the  fort.  As 
a  trader  I  will  soon  be  discharged,  for  no  incrim 
inating  papers  will  be  found  in  my  effects.  My 
time  is  precious ;  you  can  be  of  great  service. 
Once  released  I  return  to  Clark.  Then  come 
what  will." 

Exultant  joy  kindled  Lancaster's  face.  He 
turned  a  look  of  flaming  hate  on  Hamilton ;  he 
whispered  fiercely:  — 


THE   "HAIR-BUYER   GENERAL"  2/5 

"  What  will  come,  will  be  yonder  inhuman 
fiend's  ruin." 

By  this  time  the  taffia  was  beginning  to  take 
effect,  and  the  savages  were  making  frightful  din, 
weaving  in  and  out  in  a  wild  dance  about  the 
fire.  The  garrison  was  absorbed  in  watching 
their  wild  gyrations,  which  to  them  were  as  wel 
come  as  a  play,  and  under  cover  of  the  noise  and 
excitement  Vigo  and  Lancaster  slipped  into  the 
dark  shadows  and  thoroughly  inspected  the  fort. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

THE    CHRISTMAS    FETE 

THE  evening  of  the  fete  the  large  cabinet  ad 
joining  the  parlor  in  the  Dubois  mansion  pre 
sented  a  ravishing  picture.  Two  of  the  three 
demoiselles  Dubois  had  spent  the  intervening 
days  between  the  delivery  of  the  invitation 
and  Christmas  night  in  an  ecstasy  of  prepara 
tion.  Even  the  dignified  colonel  had  caught  the 
infection  sufficiently  to  have  the  large  silver 
buckles  on  his  shoes — once  worn  at  the  court 
of  Louis  XVI  — polished  to  the  highest  lustre. 

The  last  batteaux  from  Biloxi  and  New 
Orleans  had  brought  ribbons  and  laces,  silk  stock 
ings,  sheer  muslins,  even  flowery  damassin,  but, 
alas  !  only  one  pair  of  high-heeled  slippers,  long 
and  slim ;  and,  far  more  grateful  to  their  girlish 
taste,  a  fashion  book  —  only  some  ten  months  out 
of  Paris  itself! — which  pictured,  rudely  enough, 
how  the  beautiful  Queen  Antoinette  arrayed  her 
self  for  such  occasions.  Therefore,  in  posses 
sion  of  the  latest  mode,  the  demoiselles  Dubois 

276 


THE   CHRISTMAS   FETE  277 

hoped  to  strike  all  beholders  with  wonder  and 
admiration. 

Elise,  who  had  an  instinct  for  dress  amounting 
to  a  passion,  had  set  to  work  snipping  and  cutting, 
fashioning  and  shaping  with  vigor;  and  the  re 
wards  were  shown  in  the  toilettes  as  exactly  copied 
from  her  gracious  Majesty's  as  their  means  would 
permit.  The  result  was  marvellous.  It  made 
one  blink  and  think  of  magic,  to  behold  three 
court  ladies  here,  miles  in  the  wilderness,  with  an 
Indian  village  across  the  river  and  a  vast  forest 
encircling  the  spot.  Truly,  woman's  love  of  dress 
is  an  heritage  of  the  sex,  and  one  that  has  worked 
a  deal  of  mischief  in  its  day. 

Elise,  herself,  looked  like  some  grand  marquise, 
in  her  sprigged  damassin,  looped  up  over  a  petti 
coat  of  white  satin,  through  which  ran  threads  of 
gold.  It  was  a  relic  of  her  grandmother's  finery. 
Her  hair  was  piled  high  on  a  cushion,  well  pow 
dered  with  starch,  made  under  her  own  eye  by 
the  panis  from  crushed  corn.  She  sported  a  star- 
shaped  patch,  cut  from  a  bit  of  black  taffeta, 
and  stuck  on  with  gum  from  the  cherry  tree. 

Suzanne  darted  hither  and  thither,  brilliant 
and  facile  as  a  humming-bird,  in  a  silk  gown  of 
glimmering  green  shot  with  scarlet,  a  ruffle  of 
lace  around  her  plump  shoulders,  and  wide  sleeves 


2/8  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

of  the  same  falling  back  from  her  arms,  which 
were  of  nearly  the  same  ivory  tint  as  the  ancient 
web,  —  a  priceless  heirloom. 

Jeanne  refused  such  light,  frivolous  adorning, 
and  appeared  the  novice  she  aspired  to  be,  in  a 
thin  white  muslin  gown  with  white  ribbons,  about 
her  neck  a  chain  of  gold,  pendant  from  which 
was  a  cross  studded  with  pearls.  She  looked  the 
sweet,  little  white  saint,  and  not  a  gleam  of  envy 
crossed  her  heart  when  she  beheld  the  brilliant 
toilettes  of  her  sisters.  They,  fully  attired,  were 
giving  absorbed  attention  to  the  robing  of  An- 
gele,  who  submitted  with  her  usual  preoccupied 
air,  half  pleased,  half  indifferent.  Their  opera 
tions  on  her  toilette  had  produced  startling 
results,  which  surprised  no  one  more  than  them 
selves.  She  was  taller,  fairer,  slenderer  than 
they,  —  so  pale,  indeed,  that  they  had  lightly 
touched  the  wan  cheeks,  still  piteously  hollowed, 
with  a  soup9on  of  rouge.  Her  eyes  did  not  need 
the  touch  of  black  beneath  the  lower  lid  which 
Suzanne  had  thought  necessary  to  hers.  Her 
hair  was  piled  in  the  exaggerated  French  court 
fashion  and  blanched  with  the  starch  till  none  of 
its  natural  color  remained.  A  black  patch  was  set 
guard  over  the  dimple  in  her  cheek,  and  gave  her 
the  charming  touch  of  coquetry  she  had  lacked. 


THE  CHRISTMAS   FETE  279 

Her  gown  was  of  diaphanous  tissue,  yellow 
as  spring  daffodils,  and  fell  from  her  white 
shoulders,  in  the  back,  Watteau-fashion,  with  a 
fichu  of  white  lace  binding  them  round  tenderly ; 
its  shining  folds  billowed  to  her  feet  over  a  yel 
low  satin  petticoat.  To  her  share  fell  the  slender 
high-heeled  slippers,  which  had  proved  too  long 
and  narrow  for  the  short,  plump  feet  of  Elise  and 
Suzanne ;  they  had  to  content  themselves  with 
sandals  of  pale  buff  doeskin,  and  kept  hiding 
their  feet  under  their  gowns  like  strutting  pea 
fowls. 

None,  in  their  dreams  of  fancy  flights,  could 
have  imagined  Ferriby,  the  maid  in  linsey,  the 
waif  from  the  forest,  to  be  the  same  being  as 
the  stately  young  woman  in  court  costume.  Ma 
dame  la  grandmere's  ancient  finery,  in  its  pris 
tine  freshness,  had  never  worked  such  miracles  of 
loveliness.  Angele's  stately  carriage  came  from 
her  extreme  caution,  her  inaptness  at  walking  on 
pegs  of  heels  after  having  worn  moccasins  or 
sabots  all  her  days. 

The  girls  were  exclaiming  at  her  loveliness 
with  characteristic  effusiveness,  Elise  with  the 
satisfaction  of  an  artist,  Suzanne  with  loving 
energy ;  but  Jeanne  only  gazed  with  the  rapture 
of  a  devotee  —  when  Michael  announced  that  the 


280  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

caleshes  were  at  the  door,  and  that  Monsieur  the 
Colonel  and  madame,  were  weary  with  waiting. 
They  took  flight  like  gay  birds. 

The  large  officer's  room  at  the  fort  had  been 
cleared  for  dancing.  The  supper  which  would 
be  most  substantial,  with  few  kick-shaws,  would  be 
served  in  the  adjoining  log  house,  near  which  the 
kitchen  stood. 

A  slight  sprinkle  of  snow  had  redeemed  the 
year  from  having  a  "  green  Christmas,"  at  which 
the  French  secretly  rejoiced ;  for  it  augured  that 
the  little  graveyard  around  St.  Xavier's  church 
would  not  fatten  because  of  a  "  white "  one. 

The  great  fireplace  was  fed  with  logs  as  thick 
as  a  man's  body,  and  glowed  like  a  fiery  furnace 
through  the  constant  attention  of  the  common 
prisoners  and  panis.  There  were  many  of  these 
fires  to  be  looked  after,  as  the  whole  fort  was 
hospitably  thrown  open,  and  it  took  two  men  to 
fetch  in  the  logs  for  each.  Their  flaming  helped 
out  the  illumination  of  sundry  tallow  dips  hung 
about  the  room  amid  a  festooning  of  Christmas 
greens,  pillaged  from  the  pines  and  hemlocks, 
miles  away  on  the  bluffs  of  Riviere  Blanche. 

General  Hamilton  and  his  aids,  Major  Hay  and 
Captain  Lamothe,  were  gorgeous  in  the  scarlet 


THE  CHRISTMAS   F^TE  28 1 

and  gold  of  King  George's  troops.  In  the  inter 
val  pending  the  arrival  of  guests  they  stood  on 
the  hearth,  with  their  backs  to  the  fire,  coat-tails 
carefully  parted,  basking  in  the  grateful  heat. 
Bellefluille,  who  held  the  most  important  post  of 
interpreter,  stood  near  by,  yet  apart ;  thus  nicely 
defining  his  and  his  superiors'  positions. 

Lamothe,  with  characteristic  Gallic  finesse, 
was  seemingly  enjoying  to  the  uttermost  the 
rather  heavy  witticisms  and  coarse  jests  passing 
between  Hamilton  and  Hay.  While  he  barely 
understood  a  word,  he  instinctively  knew  when  to 
laugh. 

Fran9ois  Magnian,  sergeant,  was  to  act  as  mas 
ter  of  ceremonies,  announce  the  guests,  and  the 
like.  Three  fiddlers  from  the  townsfolk  were 
there  to  furnish  the  music.  It  was  to  be  an 
imposing  and  elegant  occasion,  —  one  that  would 
impress  the  volatile  French  with  the  complai 
sance  and  condescension  of  their  British  masters, 
and  in  a  measure  reconcile  them  to  them. 

"  These  prudish  French  lassies  are  worse  than 
the  old  dames ! "  observed  Hay,  peevishly.  "  I 
hope  we  may  not  have  to  put  in  the  evening 
piloting  those  mountains  of  flesh  through  dull 
minuets,  instead  of  pairing  with  maids  in  sprightly 
galliards ! " 


282  ON   THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

"  The  little  devils  !  They're  scarcely  civil !  By 
heaven,  those  girls  of  Dubois's  are  rare  ones ! " 
said  Hamilton. 

"  There's  one  they  call  Elise  who  has  an  itch 
ing  to  be  a  court  dame,  and  will  scarcely  let  her 
eye  fall  on  a  British  officer ! "  growled  Hay. 

"  And  Jeanne,  the  demure  one,  has  her  eyes 
cast  down  constantly,  as  if  telling  her  beads,  and 
a  man  can't  get  so  much  as  a  flash  from  them  to 
lighten  his  heart,"  complained  Lamothe. 

Hamilton  and  Hay  burst  into  rude  laughter 
at  his  sentimentality. 

"  Suzanne  is  a  little  romp,  but,  like  fen-light, 
there's  no  laying  a  finger  on  her ! "  continued 
Lamothe,  unruffled  by  their  ridicule. 

"  How  about  the  blonde,  the  '  white  angel '  ?  " 
questioned  Hamilton. 

"  She's  no  French  girl ! "  said  Hay,  emphati 
cally.  "  Snow  she  is !  Soot  they  are  compared 
to  her." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Major  Hay  waxes  soft !  "  jeered  Ham 
ilton.  "  Next  he'll  —  "  But  Sergeant  Magnian 
broke  in  upon  his  speech  by  announcing  in  a  loud, 
important  voice, — 

"  Monsieur  le  Colonel  Dubois,  madame,  and 
the  demoiselles  Dubois ! "  There  was  a  drop 
ping  of  negligent  attitudes.  A  sharp  thrill 


THE    CHRISTMAS   FETE  283 

of  surprise  pricked  the  hosts.  They  could 
scarcely  believe  their  eyes.  Their  wits  nearly 
forsook  them,  when  a  troop  of  fair  ladies,  fine  as 
court  beauties,  swept  toward  them,  with  dignified 
ease  and  grace,  and  paused  to  drop  a  stately 
courtesy,  as  their  hosts  met  them  halfway. 

The  men  were  visibly  impressed  by  the  splen 
dor  of  their  toilettes,  as  men  ever  are,  and  a  slight 
but  telling  change  came  over  their  demeanor. 

The  tinge  of  freedom  and  patronage  faded 
from  their  manner,  and  their  courtesy  was  all  the 
most  exacting  could  demand.  But  before  greet 
ings  were  ended,  in  rushed  a  lively  crowd  of 
guests,  who  in  turn,  gaped  and  stared,  grew  silent 
and  awkward  in  the  face  of  such  surprising  mag 
nificence.  The  women  were  uneasy  at  the  vio 
lent  contrast  to  their  own  toilettes.  The  men, 
open-mouthed  and  sheepish,  admired  and  won 
dered.  Soon  the  fiddlers  set  all  right.  Then 
feet  went  trippingly  to  the  measure  of  the  gay 
galliard,  the  reel,  and  the  country-dance.  At 
last  came  the  minuet,  that  dance  which  savors  of 
courts  and  stately  beauty. 

Now  Suzanne,  bringing  all  her  ingenuity  to 
bear,  had  learned  that  dance  out  of  a  book ;  for 
on  her  feet  she  was  as  light  as  a  canoe  on  the 
water,  a  cloudlet  in  the  sky,  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 


284  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

Such  smooth  gliding,  such  ease  of  motion,  such 
wild  gyrations  as  she  was  capable  of  would  put  a 
premiere  danseuse  to  shame.  It  was  her  one  great 
talent.  She  had  impressed  every  one  in  the 
family  necessary  to  carry  out  her  purpose,  and 
had  trained  them  with  unflagging  zeal  and  tireless 
patience.  This  was  to  be  her  triumph,  for  no  one 
else  could  dance  the  minuet.  With  tears  in  her 
eyes  she  had  entreated  Jeanne  for  once  to  lay 
aside  her  scruples,  and  Jeanne  had  yielded. 

Madame  had  obeyed  Suzanne's  mandate  and  had 
tried  to  recall  the  art  of  her  youth,  with  much 
prompting  by  the  mistress  of  the  dance;  for 
Angele  utterly  failed  to  learn  it.  Suzanne  felt 
certain  Hay  and  Lamothe,  even  burly  Hamilton, 
could  compass  the  minuet  with  good  partners  to 
guide  them.  Elise  was  to  be  the  partner  of  the 
general ;  for  Hamilton,  who  was  a  stickler  for 
etiquette,  when  he  had  asked  of  her  the  honor 
had  not  counted  on  madame  the  "  mountain " 
dancing.  Thus  she  had  fallen  to  Hay.  Every  one 
instinctively  bent  to  Elise  as  the  most  important 
woman  in  the  company.  Suzanne  was  appropri 
ated  by  the  sprightly  Frenchman,  Lamothe. 

Jeanne  was  left  unprovided.  The  sergeant 
was  sent  about  the  room  in  quest  of  any  one  who 
could  fill  the  vacant  place ;  for  the  affair  was  to 


THE  CHRISTMAS  FETE  285 

no  small  extent  democratic,  and  the  strict  de- 
markation  of  caste  could  not  be  observed.  He 
stumbled  on  St.  Vrain  in  the  midst  of  a  lively 
party  playing  cards  in  a  tiny  adjoining  room, 
cleared  out  for  the  occasion.  , 

"  Come,  St.  Vrain ;  you've  been  at  court  for  aught 
any  one  knows,  and  must  make  one  of  this  new 
fangled  dance  Ma'm'selle  Suzanne  is  so  set 
upon !  " 

"  Must  I  dance  with  the  ice-maiden  Angele  ?  " 
he  asked  with  a  wry  grimace. 

"  No ! "  laughed  the  sergeant,  "  the  little  nun 
falls  to  you." 

"  That's  a  new  experience !  I'll  make  her  for 
get  her  vows ! " 

"  Come !  come !  the  general  waits ;  what  is 
worse,  the  haughty  Elise  !  Can  you  dance  ?  " 

St.  Vrain  walked  to  the  open  door  of  the  little 
cabinet,  glanced  down  the  long  room  where  the 
couples  were  waiting,  and  said  reluctantly, 
"  Yes,  I  can." 

"  Come,  then !     It's  the  general's  orders !  " 

The  fire  had  burned  low,  and  as  the  set  formed, 
Lancaster  came  in  with  a  great  arm-load  of  wood. 
He,  as  were  all  prisoners  of  rank  lower  than 
officers,  was  treated  as  a  menial  and  compelled  to 
do  the  work  of  servants,  and  he  had  been  ordered 


286  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

to  feed  the  fire  in  the  ball-room.  He  piled  the 
fuel  on  generously,  and  watched  the  flames  braid 
through  the  interstices  till  it  was  well  ablaze ;  then 
he  turned  to  go.  But  too  late !  The  low,  slow 
measure  of  the  fiddles  warned  him  that  the  dance 
had  begun !  None  would  notice  him  if  he  stood 
quietly  near  the  fire ;  for  prisoners  and  panis 
were  scattered  about  everywhere. 

As  he  leaned  against  the  jamb  of  the  door 
leading  into  the  little  cabinet,  Lancaster  was 
caught,  like  all  the  silent  spectators,  by  the  quaint 
beauty  of  the  pictorial  scene,  —  the  eager  faces  of 
those  standing  against  the  rough  log  wall  watch 
ing  the  slow,  stately  movement,  the  sweeping 
courtesys  of  the  eight  dancers  in  the  firelight. 

The  flames  danced  and  flashed  over  the  shim 
mering  satins  and  filmy  chiffons  of  the  ladies  ;  the 
brilliant,  gold-laced,  scarlet  uniforms  of  the  officers, 
and  the  unique  costume  of  the  coureur.  He  was 
arrayed  in  his  best,  —  a  suit  of  fresh,  pale-yellow 
doeskin,  a  silken  sash  of  vivid  crimson  about  his 
waist.  His  jerkin  was  richly  embroidered  with 
shells,  beads,  and  stained  porcupine  quills.  His 
black  hair  was  gathered  into  a  queue  with  a  black 
ribbon.  His  slender  feet  trod  the  measure 
noiselessly  in  moccasins,  a  crust  of  bead  embroi 
dery.  His  evolutions  were  perfect,  his  demeanor 


Watching   .    .    .    the  sweeping  courtesies  of  the  dancers." 


THE   CHRISTMAS    FETE  287 

that  of  one  well  used  to  the  dance.  And  when 
at  its  close  he  gave  his  arm  to  Jeanne  with  the 
grace  and  courtesy  of  one  habituated  to  the 
niceties  of  the  ball-room,  some  shook  their  heads 
knowingly,  because  others  had  ever  thought  him 
onlv  a  coureur  de  bois  ! 

J 

To  one  of  Lancaster's  melancholy  mind,  this 
scene  soon  lost  interest.  He  looked  about  him, 
his  eye  travelling  vaguely  over  the  company.  It 
fell  on  Helm,  and  for  a  moment  his  mind  dwelt 
on  the  remarkable  friendship  which  existed  be 
tween  the  prisoner  captain  and  the  general  his 
captor.  Helm's  coolness  and  impudence  in  out 
witting  him  seemed  to  have  caught  Hamilton's 
fancy,  and  he  was  treated  with  the  indulgence  of  a 
friend. 

Here  he  was  at  the  ball,  dancing  like  the  most 
favored  guest,  and  was  now  standing  with  his 
late  partner,  looking  on  at  the  minuet.  Lancas 
ter's  glance  moved  to  her  face,  —  the  face  of 
Angele !  He  started  forward  eagerly,  then  fell 
back  as  one  does  when  he  thinks  he  sees  a  friend 
in  a  strange  crowd,  to  find,  with  a  pang  at  heart, 
that  he  knew  him  not !  Was  it  only  false  twang 
on  some  string  of  memory?  Her  height,  was  it 
not  a  little  more  than  that  of  Ferriby  ?  —  was  not 
the  figure  less  rounded  ?  Her  eyes  were  downcast, 


288  ON  THE  \VE-A  TRAIL 

but  the  wide  sweep  of  veined  lid  with  its  long 
fringing  of  golden  brown  was  exact  in  its  resem 
blance  to  hers  !  The  contours  of  face  and  figure 
are  unfamiliar,  decked  out  in  the  extremest  French 
mode.  The  girl's  manner,  too,  had  a  cold,  calm 
repose,  an  ungirlish  apathy.  Such  finery  his 
Ferriby  could  never  flaunt.  Such  lifeless  compo 
sure  his  bright,  quick,  impulsive  sweetheart  could 
never  acquire.  By  nature  she  had  the  glancing, 
warming  loveliness  of  sunshine ;  the  disquiet  of 
the  aspen  leaf.  Her  joyousness  set  her  to  flash 
ing  with  smiles,  and  to  dancing  with  the  nimble- 
ness  of  a  fawn.  This  cold,  still  creature,  why 
did  she  so  cause  him  to  recall  her? 

As  he  looked,  his  heart  beat  faster,  a  pang  of 
pain  contracted  his  throat  so  that  he  felt  he  must 
cry  out  or  leave  the  place.  But  he  could  not  go. 
The  fair  one  had  cast  a  spell  upon  him  which  kept 
him  there,  staring  till  his  eyes  ached.  He  re 
mained  to  the  last  deep  genuflection  of  the 
dancers. 

At  once  the  silent  crowd  became  animated,  a 
romping  country-dance  began,  and  Lancaster  saw 
the  tall,  pale  beauty  about  to  join  it.  On  his  way 
to  the  door  he  came  very  near  her,  and  stared  so 
steadily  at  her  that  the  French  lieutenant  La- 
mothe,  her  escort,  spoke  harshly,  one  word :  "  Be- 


THE  CHRISTMAS   FETE  289 

gone  ! "  She  turned  instantly,  but  Lancaster  was 
hurrying  through  the  outer  door. 

As  St.  Vrain  led  Jeanne  down  the  long  room, 
he  said  with  his  accustomed  audacity :  — 

"  You  have  given  me  a  new  and  delightful  sen 
sation,  ma'm'selle !  I  have  shot  the  rapids  of  the 
great  St.  Lawrence ;  I  have  hunted  the  buffalo ; 
I  have  found  the  wildest  retreats  of  the  deer  in 
the  forest,  and  killed  the  primest  duck;  I  have 
played  the  muskallonge  in  the  northern  lakes; 
but  never,  no  never!  did  they  inspire  me  with 
such  feelings  as  this  dance  has  done ;  such  an  ex 
perience  as  this  has  been,  have  I  never  met 
before !  " 

Jeanne's  eyes  opened  wide  and  fixed  upon 
him  in  astonishment  amazed  at  his  extravagant 
speech,  as  he  meant  she  should  be,  but  she  said 
nothing  in  reply. 

"  You  do  not  ask  why? —  Because  I  have  danced 
with  a  would-be  nun  !  When  you  are  in  the  cloister, 
you,  too,  ma'm'selle,  will  think  of  this  dance !  " 

"  Sir !  "  she  remonstrated  half  frightened. 

"  Yes  !  —  They  tell  me,  ma'm'selle,  that  you,  with 
your  bright  eyes  —  yes — I've  seen  them,  though 
too  often  cast  upon  the  insensate  puncheons  —  and 
your  satiny  hair,  are  to  become  a  sacrifice  to  the 
cloister  !  robbed  from  the  hearthstone  !  " 


2QO  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  Sir !  You  speak  most  strangely ! "  said  Jeanne, 
troubled. 

"  'Tis  because  I  feel  most  strangely,  here  !  "  and 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

"  Is  it  a  sudden  megrim  ? "  asked  Jeanne,  inno 
cently. 

The  coureur  groaned  softly  at  her  imbecility. 
"  'Tis  likely  to  become  so,  if  you  persist  in  this 
wicked  notion ! " 

"  Wicked !  monsieur  —  to  devote  one's  self  to  the 
church  ? " 

"  Yes !  The  church  has  many  devotees,  homely 
ones,  and  needs  not  this  flower  of  the  wilderness. 
Many  a  man  here  would  pluck  it  and  wear  it  on 
his  heart  forever ! " 

He  watched  the  slow  blush  mount  to  her  fore 
head,  and  a  frightened  look  come  over  her  face. 
She  drew  her  arm  from  his,  and  with  quick,  light 
steps  sought  her  mother's  side,  trembling,  and 
almost  panting. 

St.  Vrain  looked  after  her,  smiled  behind  his 
hand,  and  said  to  himself :  "  'Tis  enough  for 
this  once !  'Twill  give  her  new  food  for  thought. 
Yonder  fair  American  maid  is  not  for  me,  it  seems, 
although  I  found  her.  The  law  of  the  finder  in 
this  case  holds  not  good ! "  and  he  sighed  lustily. 
Then  he  brightened  wonderfully  as  he  smelled 


THE  CHRISTMAS   FETE  291 

the  hot  apple-toddy  the  panis  were  serving  out 
to  the  guests,  and  the  wafts  of  appetizing  vapor 
that  told  supper  was  in  preparation.  The  odor  of 
roasted  wild  turkey  and  broiled  venison  were 
sufficient  to  cheer  any  man's  blasted  heart! 

Supper  over,  the  elders  settled  in  pairs  and 
quartets  to  play  at  piquet,  ecarte,  and  whist,  and 
the  younger  ran  hither  and  thither  in  frolicking 
games,  —  "  Twirl  the  Trencher,"  "  Blindman's 
Buff,"  and  the  like. 

Lancaster  and  two  other  prisoners  had  been 
recalled,  and  set  as  guards  against  the  maids'  run 
ning  into  the  fire.  He  performed  his  service  but 
ill,  for  his  eyes  constantly  sought  out  the  stately 
maid  in  yellow,  whom  he  had  overheard  the  amo 
rous  young  Frenchmen  call  "  Angele  blanche,"  and 
the  Englishmen,  the  "snow  maid,"  with  such 
strange  yearnings  at  heart,  such  unaccountable 
drawings  toward  her!  She  did  not  join  in  the 
boisterous  fun,  but  looked  on  and  smiled  at  the 
\vild  merriment  in  a  dreamy  way,  as  if  her  spirit 
roamed  afar.  Her  eyes  rarely  wandered  or  bright 
ened  with  interest. 

A  tumbling  brand  claimed  Lancaster's  attention, 
and  he  was  instantly  conscious  that  Angele  had 
left  the  room  during  that  interval  of  not  more 


2Q2  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

than  a  moment.  She  and  Suzanne  had  slipped 
into  the  little  cabinet  to  evade  the  outstretched 
arms  of  the  "blind  man,"  who  in  hot  chase  after 
Suzanne  had  invaded  her  corner. 

Panting  and  laughing,  Suzanne  said,  "  Let 
us  rest  here  a  moment,  Angele;  my  breath's  all 
but  gone,"  and  both  sank  to  blocks  of  wood  pro 
vided  for  seats. 

"  I'm  tired  of  it  all,  Suzanne,  and  am  glad  to 
slip  away,"  Angele  replied,  while  sadness  fell  over 
her  great  blue  eyes.  "  I  do  not  know,  Suzanne, 
why  I  feel  so  dull  a  weight  here,"  —  laying  her 
hand  upon  her  breast,  —  "as  if  I  must  throw  off 
a  heavy  barrier  that  holds  me  back  from  some 
thing.  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ? " 

"  Peste  !  You  are  only  tired,  my  Angele.  Too 
much  merriment  has  wearied  you.  Rest  quietly 
here  a  moment,  and  I'll  amuse  myself  among 
Monsieur  Hamilton's  trophies." 

On  one  side  of  this  little  cubbyhole  rough 
shelves  ran  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  on  them 
were  stored  parts  of  accoutrements,  spurs  with 
huge  rowels,  dried  roots,  Indian  bows  and  arrows, 
and  such  odds  and  ends  as  men  collect.  Su 
zanne's  prying  eyes  spared  nothing,  and  as  she 
stooped  to  look  under  the  lowest  shelf,  she 
exclaimed :  — 


THE  CHRISTMAS   FETE  293 

"  Le  bon  Dieu !  what  have  we  here !  A  buf 
falo  hide  ?  "  And  she  plunged  her  hand  deep 
into  a  dark  mass,  clutched  what  her  fingers 
could  hold,  and  laughingly  drew  out — a 
scalp  ! 

Ferriby  turned  dull,  wearied  eyes  toward  her, 
but  when  she  beheld  the  trophy,  which  Suzanne 
still  clutched  as  if  unable  to  drop  it,  her  eyes 
widened  with  terror ;  she  gasped  for  breath ; 
struggled  to  rise,  and  plunged  across  the  short 
space  between  them.  She  tore  the  scalp  from 
the  fingers  of  the  horror-struck  Suzanne,  pressed 
the  long,  silken,  white  locks,  matted  and  filthy 
with  dried  blood,  to  her  breast,  and  shrieked  one 
wild  shriek  after  another.  Suzanne  thought  her 
mad  and  rushed  to  the  door  for  help,  just  as  those 
nearest  it  burst  in  appalled.  Lancaster  was  first 
to  reach  her,  and  caught  the  shrieking  girl  to  his 
breast,  and  the  silvery  scalp  slid  to  the  floor,  down 
the  length  of  her  satin  gown.  In  another  moment 
she  was  taken  from  him  to  the  motherly  bosom  of 
madame,  and  hurried  away  from  the  scene. 

The  fete  ended  in  wild  confusion.  After  all 
had  dispersed  and  quiet  had  settled  down,  Hamil 
ton  and  Hay  went  into  the  little  cabinet  to  learn 
the  cause  of  the  girl's  terror.  The  white  scalp 
on  the  floor  told  the  story. 


294  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  The  cursed  fools,  to  leave  them  here !  That 
impish  Suzanne  found  them,  of  course,"  and  he 
pushed  it  carelessly  with  his  foot  into  the  corner 
with  the  others. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

MIDWINTER 

AFTER  Ferriby  had  been  borne  tenderly  home 
from  the  fete,  every  torture  memory  could  inflict 
was  hers.  Suzanne,  Jeanne,  and  madame  sat  by 
her  side  the  remainder  of  the  night.  Her  mind 
emptied  itself  of  all  its  ghastly  stowage ;  a  cease 
less  stream  of  words,  low  and  monotonous,  like 
one  talking  in  sleep,  fell  from  her  lips,  as  if  some 
power  outside  of  her  own  will  called  upon  her 
to  speak.  It  seemed  as  if  suspended  memory 
had  lost  sight  of  everything  between  those  days 
of  horror  and  those  of  peacef  ulness. 

Every  act  passed  in  review,  every  horrid  ex 
perience  was  lived  over  again.  They  feared  for 
her  reason. 

The  discovery  of  the  snowy  scalp,  madame 
regarded  as  a  horrid  coincidence,  but  Jeanne  and 
Suzanne,  with  the  swift  conviction  of  youth,  be 
lieved  as  Ferriby  did,  that  it  was  that  of  her 
grandmother.  Their  tears  streamed  when  she 
told  of  her  parting  from  her  lover  in  the  clearing, 

295 


296  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

destined  to  be  so  lasting.  They  sobbed  aloud 
when  she  recounted  the  awful  massacre  in  the 
cabin.  They  shuddered  with  terror  when  she 
related  the  story  of  her  capture  and  lonely  wan 
derings  in  the  wilderness.  They  trembled  at 
the  fearfulness  of  it,  and  wept  with  the  pity  of  it. 
They  blessed  St.  Vrain  for  his  tender  humanity, 
and  Jeanne  had  much  trouble  thereafter  to  keep 
thoughts  of  him  from  intruding  on  her  pious 
meditations.  Suzanne  sobbed  out,  "  I'll  always 
love  him  as  a  dear  brother!" 

Madame,  with  calmer  judgment,  was  inclined 
to  believe  her  revelation  to  be  the  flighty  maun 
dering  of  one  fever-stricken. 

At  daybreak  Ferriby's  babblings  fell  into  si 
lence.  She  subsided  into  a  calm  as  fearful  as 
her  ravings,  and  a  weakness  fell  upon  her  so 
piteous  it  sent  Suzanne  weeping,  Jeanne  praying, 
from  her  bedside  ;  for  it  seemed  that  Death  would 
claim  all  that  grief  had  left  of  vitality. 

After  a  fortnight  of  alternate  hope  and  despair 
on  the  part  of  her  watchers,  strength  came  creep 
ing  back,  and  with  it  perfect  recollection  of  the 
past. 

Her  story  did  not  become  generally  known; 
for  it  was  not  thought  wise  to  inflame  the  minds 
of  the  villagers  by  a  repetition  of  such  atrocities, 


MIDWINTER  297 

at  least  until  proof  had  established  that  they  were 
not  the  hallucinations  of  one  suddenly  upset  by 
fright,  which  was  the  generally  accepted  theory 
of  her  sudden  illness. 

But  Colonel  Dubois  quietly  set  on  foot  a  search 
for  her  people  and  for  confirmation  of  her  story, 
by  the  aid  of  hunters  and  trappers. 

Hamilton  believed  Ferriby's  fright  arose  from 
the  shock  of  finding  so  ghastly  an  object;  and 
for  excellent  reasons  said  no  more  about  the 
unlucky  affair. 

After  the  holidays  the  villagers  settled  down 
to  their  midwinter  tasks  and  pastimes.  The 
trappers  were  abroad  slaying  their  victims,  be 
cause  winter  hides  brought  so  many  more  shil 
lings  than  the  "  salted  down "  hides  of  warm 
weather.  The  nobler  animals  also  were  slaugh 
tered  mercilessly:  huge  saddles  of  venison  were 
"  cured,"  as  well  as  the  choicer  parts  of  the  buffalo, 
for  summer  consumption. 

Bands  of  savages  roamed  back  and  forth  through 
the  Illinois  country,  harrowing  the  frontier,  and 
returning  to  the  fort  to  be  paid  for  their  spoils. 
No  messengers  were  able  to  get  through  to  Vir 
ginia  that  winter,  thanks  to  the  murderous  vigi 
lance  of  the  English  mercenaries. 

Clark  was  wearing  his  life  out  at  Kaskaskia  in 


2Q8  ON   THE  WE-A   TRAIL 

anxious  expectation  of  aid  from  Virginia,  which 
he  never  received. 

Lancaster  still  a  prisoner,  chafing  and  fretting, 
despairing  and  maddened,  was  kept  busy  early 
and  late,  hewing,  sawing,  digging,  unwillingly 
bearing  a  part  in  the  improvement  of  the  fort. 

He  had  never  again  seen  the  pale  girl  who  had 
so  mysteriously  moved  him,  except  in  dreams. 
Nor  had  he  heard  more  of  her  than  that  she  was 
one  of  Colonel  Dubois's  daughters.  While  his 
physical  condition  improved  and  strengthened 
daily,  by  his  outdoor  labor,  in  spite  of  himself, 
his  mind  was  slowly  settling  into  a  hopelessness 
bordering  on  melancholia. 

Not  the  slightest  opportunity  for  escape  pre 
sented  itself.  At  night  he  slept  surrounded  by 
Hamilton's  regulars;  by  day  he  worked  with 
them,  constantly  guarded.  The  eternal  surveil 
lance  and  helplessness  of  his  situation  was  driv 
ing  him  to  despair. 

By  the  aid  of  cards  and  dice,  taffia  and  brandy, 
and  the  companionship  of  Lamothe  and  Hay, 
Hamilton  managed  to  get  through  the  heavy  days. 
Even  Helm,  who  was  a  prime  favorite  with  all, 
was  called  upon  to  lighten  the  dragging  hours. 
His  odd  humor  amused  the  duller  witted  Hamil 
ton.  His  brazen  audacity  and  unquenchable 


MIDWINTER  299 

spirits  kept  them  on  the  alert,  wondering  what 
he  would  say  or  do  next ;  he  was  an  irreverent 
godsend  in  that  dull  hole.  But  all  these  slow 
hours  were  not  passed  in  frivolity  by  Hamilton. 
Many  were  secretly  employed  in  formulating 
plans  for  his  early  spring  campaign  against  the 
American  frontiersman,  which,  for  his  means, 
was  to  be  on  a  large  scale,  —  one  of  merciless,  vig 
orous  carnage.  He  had  carte  blanche  to  do  as 
he  pleased,  and  his  pleasure  was  infamous. 

His  plans  were  fully  made,  and  only  lacked 
opportunity  to  be  set  in  motion,  when  he  was 
balked  by  a  power  he  could  in  no  wise  control  — 
the  operations  of  nature.  Weeks  of  rain,  a  Jan 
uary  thaw,  set  in,  which  lasted  well  into  the  mid 
dle  of  February.  The  improvements  in  the  fort 
were  all  but  completed.  A  terrible  ennui  fell 
upon  him.  Time  dragged  like  an  ox-cart 
through  bottomless  prairie  mud.  He  bitterly 
regretted  the  display  of  petty  arrogance  which 
had  caused  him  to  destroy  the  two  billiard  tables 
at  the  tavern ;  they  would  now  have  served  their 
turn  at  diversion  from  the  terrible  impatience 
which  seized  him.  He  eagerly  used  every 
chance  to  lighten  the  time ;  held  drinking-bouts 
in  his  own  private  quarters,  and  attended  those 
given  by  Hay  and  Lamothe  in  theirs. 


300  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

In  his  extremity  he  even  accepted  invitations 
from  Helm,  to  whom  he  had  assigned  comfortable 
quarters  in  a  small  log  house  near  his  own ;  and 
to  whom,  while  carefully  guarded,  he  accorded 
great  freedom  within  the  precincts  of  the  fort. 

Helm  came  and  went  much  as  he  pleased,  but 
his  range  was  confined  to  six  acres,  bounded  on 
all  sides  by  a  stout  stockade  of  oak  and  hickory 
saplings,  eleven  feet  high,  set  double. 

His  unabating  cheerfulness,  his  "quips  and 
cranks,"  his  resource  in  inventing  new  amuse 
ments  from  very  small  means,  had  made  him  a 
refuge  from  dulness  to  Hamilton.  Therefore 
it  was  with  pleasure  and  satisfaction  that  he  ac 
cepted  an  invitation  from  Helm  to  spend  a 
drizzly  evening  in  his  cabin. 

Shortly  after  candle-lighting,  when  he  had 
eaten  his  coarse  rations  and  had  smoked  a  pipe, 
Hamilton  took  himself  off  to  enjoy  the  pleasant 
company  of  his  hostile  host,  and  a  friendly  game 
at  piquet  with  him. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

A    GAME    OF    PIQUET 

IT  was  a  muggy  night  after  a  period  of  drizzling, 
wet  days  when  the  grass  had  been  soaked  from 
dull  green  (for  it  had  been  an  "  open  "  winter)  to 
the  duller  brown  of  ultimate  decay,  to  which 
nature  brings  everything,  animal  and  vegetable, 
high  and  low,  at  last. 

The  mud  in  the  fort  grounds  would  have  been 
knee  deep  but  for  Hamilton's  timely  application 
of  gravel.  The  sky  was  lowering  and  thick 
with  mist  that  needed  but  a  waft  of  colder 
wind  to  distil  it  into  drops,  as  a  peevish  child 
melts  to  tears  at  the  one  trifle  too  much. 

It  was  eminently  a  night  for  pleasure  indoors, 
and  Hamilton  vaguely  pitied  the  unlucky  wight 
who  had  business  out;  as  he  heard  the  dull  tread 
of  the  sentries,  and  thought  of  Lamothe,  whom  he 
had  sent  off  that  morning  on  a  scouting  expedi 
tion.  When  he  reached  Helm's  quarters  he  found 
pleasant  company,  and  he  threw  off  his  cloak  and 
hat  without  waiting  for  his  host  (who  called  out  a 

301 


302  ON  THE   WE- A   TRAIL 

cheery  greeting)  to  rise  from  an  occupation  that 
promised  much.  Helm  was  crouched  over  the 
hearth,  in  the  full  heat  of  the  fire,  though  not  in 
need  of  warming,  as  his  flaming  face  testified. 

He  was  watching  a  row  of  red-cheeked  apples 
fade  in  the  glow,  like  rosy  girls  in  the  perfervid 
fire  of  life,  into  an  ugly  brown,  all  their  lusty 
color  scorched  from  them  as  he  turned  them 
slowly  before  the  hot  bank  of  coals.  When  the 
odor  of  pleasant  juices  reached  him,  Hamilton 
sniffed  unctuously  as  a  cat  sniffs  catnip.  He 
drew  near  the  hearth,  and  placing  himself  to  one 
side  where  he  could  watch  the  agreeable  task  of 
his  host,  rubbing  his  chill  hands,  smacking  his 
lips,  he  remarked:  — 

"  If  I  mistake  not  all  the  signs,  Helm,  we  are 
in  for  one  of  your  incomparable  brews.  Eh  ?  " 

"  I  design  nothing  else,  general,  though  most 
soldiers  in  my  case  would  prefer  a  '  brew '  of  an 
other  sort !  "  he  replied,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
straying  of  the  eye  toward  Major  La  Grasse  and 
Captain  Bosseron,  paroled  residents  of  O  Poste, 
who  at  that  moment  entered  together,  coming  in 
from  the  town. 

Bellefluille,  the  interpreter,  answered  to  Helm's 
remark. 

"  Small  chance  of  any  other  kind  this  night, 


A  GAME  OF  PIQUET  303 

captain,  unless  it  be  of  rain,  —  which  le  bon  Dieu 
avert!  We  have  had  more  than  a  stomach  full 
of  that!" 

All  the  guests,  but  the  newcomers,  were  gathered 
about  the  table  dicing.  Hamilton  retired  from 
the  fireside  and  seated  himself  apart  from  the 
others  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  table,  a  long  slab 
of  puncheon,  and  fell  to  sorting  over  a  pack  of 
cards,  preparatory  to  getting  satisfaction  out  of 
Helm  for  his  last  defeat  at  piquet,  by  that  worthy. 
He  counted  aloud  absently,  "ace,"  "  deuce,"  "  tray," 
as  he  threw  them  into  two  piles. 

Hay  sat  on  a  corner  of  the  table,  idly  swinging 
his  foot  in  the  pauses  of  the  game  he  was  engaged 
in,  watching  intently  each  step  of  the  toddy 
making. 

Bosseron  approached  the  hearth,  his  back  to 
the  rest,  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze 
to  warm  them.  As  he  did  so  Helm  glanced  up 
casually  at  him  and  met  a  look  so  meaning,  so 
triumphant,  he  read  it,  with  the  intuition  of  a 
woman,  as  a  message  of  import.  Tact  silenced 
his  lips,  but  his  eyes  flashed  the  question,  "  Good 
news  ? " 

Bosseron's  lips  silently  formed  the  word  "  Yes." 

The  next  moment  his  interest  centred  on  his 
row  of  apples,  now  done  to  a  turn,  their  thin  skins 


304  ON   THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

bursting,  showing  the  foamy  white  inside.  With 
a  hand  that  trembled  slightly  he  nicely  blended 
the  brandy,  water,  sugar,  and  spice  (a  modicum  of 
dried  sassafras  and  spice-wood  bark  doing  duty), 
turned  it  into  the  great  iron  brewing  cup,  and 
thrust  the  long  nozzle  into  a  bed  of  living  coals 
well  inside  the  fireplace.  He  hung  over  it  as 
solicitously  as  a  young  mother  over  a  sick  babe, 
but  managed  meantime  to  keep  up  a  volley  of 
chaffing  with  his  guests.  Noticing  Hamilton's 
occupation,  he  cried  :  — 

"  Don't  hope  to  beat  me  at  piquet,  general.  By 
the  Eternal !  I've  come  to  think  my  victory  over 
you  foreordained." 

This  "  double  entente "  was  not  lost  on  La 
Grasse  and  Bosseron,  who  smiled  broadly. 

Hamilton  glanced  up  from  the  cards  and  said 
somewhat  testily,  — 

"  Destiny  in  battle  is  not  foretold  by  a  pack  of 
dirty  cards,  begad  !  " 

"  Spoken  like  a  soldier.  No !  by  Heaven,  'tis 
by  courage,  endurance  in  the  face  of  every  diffi 
culty  and  danger.  God  prosper  the  right ! " 

Hamilton  looked  surprised  at  this  outburst,  and 
remarked  dryly :  — 

"  This  post  is  rather  a  hard  billet,  but  I've  no 
reason  to  complain  except  for  this  cursed  dul- 


A   GAME   OF  PIQUET  305 

ness.  Much  I  owe  you,  Helm,  for  becoming  my 
prisoner." 

There  was  a  very  slight  emphasis  on  the  last 
word. 

"  And  I  you  for  being  my  guest,"  Helm  replied, 
with  irresistible  bravado,  which  puzzled  the 
Frenchmen  and  made  the  Englishmen  laugh. 

"  Besides,  it  will  be  livelier  soon,"  said  Hamil 
ton,  with  unmistakable  meaning. 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  acquiesced  Helm,  nonchalantly, 
turning  to  his  brew.  He  lifted  it  to  a  hotter  bed, 
and  was  just  settling  it  to  his  satisfaction  when 
there  was  a  crack  from  a  gun,  a  rattle,  and  a 
great  lump  of  dried  mud  fell  down  the  chimney 
and  splashed  into  the  mixture.  Helm  started 
back  to  get  out  of  the  cloud  of  hot  aromatic  steam. 
The  vessel  had  turned  sideways  and  had  spilt 
most  of  the  posset  on  the  fire ;  but  he  carefully 
righted  it,  skimmed  off  the  mud,  and  roared 
out:  — 

"  By  the  God  of  heaven,  gentlemen,  that's 
Clark's  soldiers.  And  they'll  take  your  fort. 
But,"  he  added  whimsically,  "  they  ought  not  to 
have  spoiled  this  apple-toddy  !  " 1 

Dice  turned  up  double  sixes  in  vain.  Cards 
were  flung  to  the  wind.  Hamilton  rushed  to  the 

1  Verbatim. 


306  ON   THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

parade  ground,  followed  by  all  but  Helm.  Balls 
whistled  about  his  ears.  A  sergeant  fell,  shot 
dead.  An  instant  more  and  the  drums  sounded 
a  wild  alarm,  —  the  fort  was  roused.  For  a  brief 
space  there  followed  a  state  of  seeming  confusion, 
then  the  well-disciplined  men  were  in  position,  — 
gunners  and  swabbers  at  the  cannon ;  musketeers 
at  the  port-holes ;  lights  out. 

At  the  first  alarm  a  detail  had  rushed  forward 
to  barricade  the  gate  toward  the  church,  when,  to 
their  consternation,  it  burst  open.  It  was  only 
McBeth,  the  post  surgeon,  who  entered  in  furious 
haste,  and  with  him  a  slight  stripling,  wrapped 
closely  in  a  long,  black  cloak.  It  was  intensely 
dark,  so  that  no  notice  was  taken  of  the  surgeon's 
companion.  The  gate  crashed  to,  and  the  huge 
oak  barriers,  which  no  ordinary  battering-ram 
could  break,  were  put  in  place.  The  Americans 
under  Clark  —  for  he  it  was  who  had  spoiled  the 
posset  —  had  crept  close  under  the  palisades  and 
lay  eleven  feet  below  the  ports,  out  of  range  of  the 
British  guns,  so  that  the  shot  fell  foul  or  shattered 
the  houses  in  the  village.  Clark  had  surrounded 
the  fort  on  the  three  land-sides  so  stealthily 
that  the  first  hint  of  the  presence  of  the  Virginians 
was  given  by  the  shot  that  sent  the  bit  of  clay 
into  the  apple-toddy. 


A   GAME  OF   PIQUET  307 

The  surgeon  was  summoned  to  Hamilton,  who 
closely  questioned  him,  and  in  the  turmoil  his 
companion  fled  away  into  the  darkness. 

Helm  and  the  handful  of  prisoners  were  forgot 
ten  in  the  suddenness  of  the  attack,  and  the  wild 
excitement  following  upon  it.  His  quarters  were 
deserted  of  all  who  had  been  his  guests  but  a 
short  ten  minutes  before.  Mild  domestic  peace 
had  given  place  to  fierce,  cruel  war.  Helm  stood 
by  his  hearth,  tranquilly  sipping  a  glass  of  the 
scalding  toddy,  now  and  then  blowing  upon  it 
to  cool  it,  and  listening  to  the  din  noising  outside. 

"  I'm  neither  a  prophet,  nor  the  son  of  a 
prophet !  But,  by  the  Eternal !  I  was  right  that 
time!" 

He  swallowed  a  draught  in  silent  toast,  and 
smacked  his  lips  loudly  in  appreciation  of  the 
merits  of  both  the  prophecy  and  the  brew. 

"  Captain  Helm ! "  cried  a  low,  eager  voice  at 
the  door.  He  turned  quickly  as  a  slight  figure 
glided  into  the  space  illumined  uncertainly  by 
the  dying  fire.  He  grew  pale,  and  stared  awe 
struck,  for  he  thought  what  he  saw  was  a  spirit. 

The  intruder  threw  off  its  cloak. 

"  For  God's  sake !  How  did  you  get  here, 
girl  ?  Tell  me  !  "  he  cried.  When  it  had  dawned 
on  him  that  it  was  no  spirit  he  saw,  but  a  woman 


308  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

in  flesh  and  blood,  —  the  girl  he  knew  as  Angele 
Dubois. 

"  No  one  would  venture  to  pass  the  sentinels 
on  account  of  their  oath  of  allegiance.  I  am  not 
a  Frenchwoman,  and  owe  the  English  nothing 
of  loyalty.  I  am  an  American !  My  duty  is  to 
my  own  people !  Since  dark  fell,  I  have  waited 
near  the  gate  for  a  chance  to  enter  the  fort.  Dis 
guised  by  Colonel  Dubois's  great  cloak,  I  easily 
slipped  by  the  guard  with  a  soldier  coming  in, 
and  was  not  challenged." 

"  True  pioneer  grit !  With  women  as  bold, 
determined,  and  brave  as  the  men,  our  cause 
should  succeed !  " 

"  It  will ;  for  Clark  landed  on  Warrior's  Island 
near  sunset  this  afternoon  !  " 

"  I  thought  as  much  when  he  spilled  my  toddy  ! 
The  man  is  more  than  human  to  have  done  it. 
Was  ever  such  resolution  as  Clark's  ? " 

"  I  determined  to  warn  you,  that  you  might  aid 
him  by  any  means  in  your  power,  or  that  you 
might  escape  to  him.  One  such  tried  man  as 
you  is  worth  a  hundred  now ! " 

Helm  thought  deeply  a  few  moments,  and  said  : 
"  Escape  is  impossible !  I  can't  think  of  a  way 
to  help  just  now ;  but  the  long  rifles  of  the  '  Big 
Knives '  will  soon  make  one  for  me,  I  dare  swear ! 


A  GAME  OF   PIQUET  309 

That  don't  bother  me  much  !  It's  what  to  do 
with  you ! " 

"  Now  I'm  here,  I  must  stay,"  said  the  girl, 
coolly.  "  The  gates  are  barricaded,  Clark  has 
surrounded  the  fort.  He's  certain  to  take  it.  I'll 
be  no  hindrance  to  you ;  I'll  look  out  for  myself ! 
Go  to  your  duty  without  a  thought  of  me ! " 

"  You're  safe  enough  behind  these  logs.  The 
rifle-balls  of  the  Americans  can't  pierce  through 
them.  Besides,  the  attack  comes  from  the  other 
three  sides."  Helm  paused  to  listen  while  cannon 
bellowed  and  rifles  rattled  shot  like  hail.  "  You'll 
not  be  afraid,  my  girl  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  No,  no !  not  for  a  moment !  Don't  stay  for 
me!" 

"  Spoken  like  a  true  American  maid  ! " 

A  quiet  now  ensued,  so  perfect  that  the  angry 
rush  of  the  river,  full  to  the  brim,  not  fifty  feet 
back  of  Helm's  cabin,  could  be  distinctly  heard. 
Then  followed  a  mighty  blare  of  cannon,  shrill 
cries,  and  loud  huzzahs, — the  tremendous  har 
mony  of  battle ! 

The  loud  cheers  roused  Helm.  They  were 
the  blended  voices  of  his  old  comrades,  as  he 
well  knew.  He  ran  to  the  nearest  blockhouse 
in  the  thick  of  it,  the  one  overlooking  the  church. 
He  mounted  the  ladder  and  stood  by  the  grimy 


310  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

gunner  as  he  rammed  home  the  charge  and 
touched  off  the  vent.  The  flame  leaped  outward. 
The  ball  sped  with  a  sharp  hiss ;  the  gunner 
peered  on  the  instant  through  the  embrasure. 
His  shadow  fell  across  it.  Ping!  a  bullet  sang. 
He  fell  dead !  Before  his  shot  had  reached  its 
aim  a  musket-ball  had  pierced  his  breast. 

"  It's  the  Virginians,  no  doubt  after  that ! " 
said  Helm,  proudly.  "  They  are  the  only  soldiers 
that  can  shoot  at  a  shadow  and  kill  a  man ! " 

Without  hesitation,  the  man  swabbing  out  the 
bore  of  the  gun  took  the  dead  man's  place,  push 
ing  to  one  side  with  his  foot  the  out-flung  arm  of 
the  gunner  that  he  might  not  tread  upon  it.  He 
bent  forward.  Before  he  could  ram  home  the 
charge,  a  bullet  bored  through  his  skull  near  the 
corner  of  the  eye. 

"  By  all  the  fiends  of  hell !  these  fellows  shoot 
at  your  shadow  and  leave  you  a  shade,"  muttered 
Helm,  looking  down  at  the  slain  men.  "  I  must 
have  a  care  that  I'm  not  plugged  myself!  But 
this  fellow  mustn't  be  silent.  He  can  only  tell 
tales,  as  Pat  would  say,  by  keeping  still ! "  He 
dragged  the  dead  out  of  the  way. 

"  Now  for  a  turn  at  his  Majesty's  powder !  If 
Lancaster  were  only  here,  'twould  be  a  God's 
blessing ! " 


A   GAME  OF   PIQUET  311 

He  stepped  to  the  ladder- way  and  called 
loudly  in  a  pause  in  the  uproar — "  Lancaster!  " 

The  reply  was  a  rush  of  feet  up  the  ladder,  and 
Lancaster  stood  near  him,  directly  in  front  of  the 
deadly  embrasure. 

"  Hell !  boy.  Not  there  !  "  and  Helm's  brawny 
hand  dashed  the  youth  to  one  side  just  as  a  swift 
bullet  shrilled  through  the  space  he  had  occupied. 
"  They  shoot  like  devils,  nor  miss  their  mark ! " 
was  Helm's  sole  comment.  "  Beware  of  darken 
ing  the  port,  for  that's  what  they  aim  at !  " 

Lancaster  glanced  at  it  carelessly,  then  said, 
"  You  want  me  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  help  me  with  this  gun,  boy.  I'm 
mighty  unhandy  at  these  roarers.  With  my 
long-barrelled  rifle  I  can  shoot  with  the  best  of 
them  !  "  A  smart  fusillade  from  the  north  seemed 
to  applaud  his  boast. 

"  You  don't  mean  —  "  stammered  Lancaster, 
appalled. 

"  No,  I  don't,  you  fool !  But  this  gun's  got  to 
holler  with  the  rest !  Noise  won't  kill !  " 

Lancaster  instantly  grasped  his  intention,  and 
continued  to  swab  the  gun  till  the  water  in 
his  bucket  was  black  and  grimy.  They  served 
it  with  tremendous  charges  of  powder;  but 
the  shot  pile  was  undiminished.  If  noise  could 


312  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

have  killed,  then  half  of  Clark's  army  had  been 
slain ! 

None  within  the  fort  was  the  wiser  for  the 
good  service  they  two  rendered  the  Americans 
that  night,  wasting  the  king's  powder  and  saving 
the  king's  shot. 

The  air  was  swart  with  smoke!  The  rayless 
darkness  was  lit  momently  into  horrid  brilliancy 
by  flamings  of  cannon,  and  from  every  port-hole 
to  the  east  rifles  flashed  a  narrow  jet  of  fire. 

Each  impotent  volley  from  within  was  received 
with  jeers  and  taunts  by  the  Americans  without. 
Clark's  men  were  firing  intermittently;  now 
and  again  their  long  squirrel-rifles  carried  swift 
death  within  through  every  crack  and  crevice. 
Outside  the  fort,  intermingled  with  the  noise  of 
battle,  were  sounds  of  chopping,  followed  by  a 
crash ;  dull  blows  were  succeeded  by  the  ripping 
apart  of  timbers.  But  to  those  within  the  fort 
worse  than  all  these  were  the  periods  of  perfect 
quiet,  lasting  but  a  few  moments,  but  to  their 
strained  and  anxious  ears  seeming  to  be  hours 
long. 

They  set  the  nerves  a-quiver ;  the  teeth  a-chat- 
ter  with  dread  of  what  might  come  next.  The 
besiegers  were  so  close  under  the  stockade  their 
movements  could  not  be  seen.  They  slipped  like 


A  GAME  OF  PIQUET  313 

shadows  following  the  sun,  from  one  point  to 
another,  and  after  an  interval  of  racking  suspense 
the  attack  would  come  from  a  new  quarter.  Then 
swivels  must  be  turned,  cannon  shifted,  to  meet 
the  new  attack.  After  volley-firing  would  come, 
at  long  intervals,  the  deadly  single  shots  of  the 
sharp-shooters,  when  the  shadow  of  some  incau 
tious,  curious  gunner  darkened  the  port  for  an 
instant,  peering  out  to  behold  —  death  !  Scarcely 
a  missent  shot  was  fired  by  Clark's  men. 

Hamilton  pervaded  the  fort,  cool  and  brave. 
But  he  was  secretly  chagrined  to  have  been 
caught  napping  by  an  army  of  backwoodsmen, 
such  as  he  conceived  Clark's  to  be.  He  was  a 
good  officer  and  knew  what  his  men  were  about. 
When  the  cannon  in  the  southwest  blockhouse 
rang  out  sharply  and  regularly,  he  gave  no  further 
attention  to  it,  for  he  was  needed  elsewhere. 

At  last  the  blackness  of  the  long  night  began 
to  yield  to  the  graying  of  dawn.  Trembling 
shafts  of  light  began  to  part  the  curtain  of  smoke 
and  let  the  morning  in.  The  Americans  seemed 
to  have  withdrawn  ;  their  rifles  were  quiet  after 
a  terrible  night  of  action.  The  cannon  in  the 
fort  paused  as  if  to  catch  breath.  The  dominant 
sound  was  the  rush  of  the  river,  muddy  and  swol 
len,  which  spread  wide  on  the  farther  shore  to 


314  ON  THE   WE-A   TRAIL 

the  very  lodges  of  the  Piankeshaws.  A  diversion 
occurred.  An  Indian  scout  managed  to  find  an 
unguarded  spot  on  the  riverside,  and  scaled  the 
pickets  of  the  stockade  like  a  squirrel. 

He  approached  Hamilton,  and  reported  that 
Lamothe  was  hovering  near  with  his  scouting 
party,  in  hope  of  entering  the  fort.  The  general 
ascended  to  the  upper  story  of  the  blockhouse 
and  swept  the  horizon  with  his  glass.  No  enemy 
was  in  sight !  Elated  by  this  extraordinary  chance 
for  reinforcements,  Hamilton  descended  to  the 
parade-ground  and  ordered  over  the  ladders. 

Lamothe  and  his  squad,  who  had  hidden  in  a 
barn  near  by,  in  furious  haste  swarmed  to  the  top 
of  the  ladder,  and  with  wild  bounds  leaped  from 
the  top  of  the  stockade  into  the  enclosure ;  a  few, 
in  their  eagerness,  fell  back  outside. 

The  Americans,  peeping  from  their  ambuscade, 
saw  the  last  one  over.  A  hoarse  shout  of  deri 
sion  told  the  enraged  Hamilton  that  he  had  been 
outgeneralled  once  more.  The  reason  was  only 
too  plain  ;  the  Americans  were  not  strong  enough 
to  engage  more  than  one  party  at  a  time.  At 
once  their  firing  recommenced,  fiercer  than  ever. 

The  wan  light  proved  truly  the  beginning  of 
another  day.  The  sun  appeared  a  glittering 
blotch  on  a  dull  gray  sky  and  gradually  pene- 


A  GAME  OF  PIQUET  315 

trailed  the  sulphurous  smoke  that  hovered  over 
the  fort.  With  the  day's  return  was  revealed 
to  Hamilton  the  true  significance  of  the  dull 
blows  and  crashings  heard  in  the  night.  Three 
hundred  yards  before  the  gate,  toward  the  village, 
the  Americans  had  thrown  up  a  barricade  of  trees 
and  earth,  and  were  strongly  intrenched  behind 
it.  They  had  pulled  down  the  adjacent  barns 
and  cabins,  leaving  a  broad  space  between  the 
fort  and  village.  How  they  could  have  accom 
plished  all  this  and  have  kept  up  so  galling  a 
fire  amazed  Hamilton.  His  wonder  would  have 
increased  had  he  known  that  these  154  men  stood 
up  to  the  work  after  a  march  of  fifteen  days  of 
incredible  hardship,  the  last  week  up  to  the  arm 
pits  through  water  over  the  Drowned  Lands, 
covered  for  six  miles  by  the  overflow  of  the  Oui- 
bache ;  and  that,  after  eating  the  first  full  meal 
they  had  had  for  six  days,  wet,  ragged,  wayworn, 
without  a  thought  of  rest,  they  had  commenced 
the  attack  and  kept  it  up  so  hotly  all  night 
that  he  was  put  on  his  mettle  with  his  fresh 
troops  to  meet  it.  The  invincible,  unconquerable 
spirit  of  the  Americans  might  have  warned  him 
and  his  compatriots  of  the  inevitable  outcome  of 
the  struggle,  not  only  here  but  in  the  colonies. 
Hamilton  strongly  suspected  that  the  villagers 


316  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

had  given  aid.  Clark  forbade  them  to  take  part 
in  the  assault;  but  they  had  indeed  been  of  great 
assistance,  melting  pewter  utensils  into  bullets, 
felling  trees,  tearing  down  buildings,  throwing 
up  earthworks,  and  above  all,  by  unearthing  a 
goodly  store  of  buried  powder. 

The  Americans  seemed  indeed  insensible  to 
fatigue.  With  the  return  of  day  they  renewed 
the  assault  with  unabated  energy.  Now  it  was 
at  the  price  of  life  a  figure  passed  before  a  port 
hole.  Ping !  spoke  the  bullet.  Death  answered. 

Helm,  stripped  to  the  waist,  grimy  and  sweat 
ing,  sorely  puzzled,  had  watched  each  move  of 
Clark's  with  amazement.  But  he  knew  the  won 
derful  sagacity  of  the  man,  and  had  perfect  faith 
in  him,  while  he  had  not  the  clew  to  his  actions. 
He  dully  wondered  what  would  be  his  next  move. 
But  even  he,  man  of  strong  faith,  was  unprepared 
for  it. 

Another  appalling  silence  fell,  significant  of 
fresh  disaster;  and  Hamilton,  well  convinced  his 
weakened  garrison  could  not  stand  to  the  guns 
much  longer,  ascended  to  the  top  of  the  south 
west  blockhouse,  —  for  the  enemy  had  shifted  to 
that  quarter,  —  and  anxiously  used  his  glass.  He 
almost  dropped  it  in  bewilderment ;  for  he  saw  a 
man  approaching  the  gate  bearing  a  white  flag. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

AT    LAST  ! 

THE  sudden  cessation  of  firing  caused  much 
incautious  peering  from  loopholes ;  those  over 
looking  the  village  were  crowded. 

Eager  to  learn  the  cause,  Ferriby  left  Helm's 
cabin,  where  she  had  spent  the  fearful  night.  She 
crossed  to  the  blockhouse,  and  climbed  the  ladder 
to  the  upper  floor,  where  he  was  blithely  wasting 
powder. 

The  dead  gunner  and  his  mate  lay  stark  in  the 
corner  out  of  harm's  way,  though,  poor  wretches, 
in  an  earthly  sense,  harm  could  come  to  them  no 
more. 

The  furious  excitement  with  which  Lancaster 
had  served  the  gun  abated  with  the  silencing  of 
the  battery.  Horrible  weakness  overcame  him. 
He  swayed  from  side  to  side,  then  pitched  face 
downward  to  the  floor,  while  blood  streamed  from 
his  mouth.  As  he  fell,  an  arm  struck  Helm, 
whose  face  was  pressed  against  the  embrasure. 
The  blow  startled  him ;  he  turned  and  cried  out 
wofully,  — 

317 


318  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

"  God  of  heaven !  the  boy  is  killed." 

He  threw  himself  down  by  Lancaster  and 
raised  his  head  upon  his  knee.  Robert's  staring 
eyes  happened  to  be  gazing  toward  the  ladder- 
way,  when  Ferriby's  shoulders  reached  the  level 
of  the  floor.  Helm's  whole  attention  was  taken 
up  with  the  wounded  man. 

"  Am  I  in  heaven  ? "  murmured  Lancaster, 
dreamily,  feebly  raising  his  head.  "  At  last  I 
have  found  you,  my  Ferriby ! "  A  mouthful  of 
blood  choked  his  utterance,  and  he  sank  back 
with  the  sudden  fall  .of  the  lifeless  against  Helm. 

The  bluff  old  soldier  was  trying  to  tear  off 
Lancaster's  buckskin  shirt,  for  he  well  knew  the 
flow  of  blood  could  come  from  but  two  wounds, 
one  of  them  fatal ;  and  he  prayed  mightily  and 
impiously  meanwhile. 

"  Why  the  devil  won't  it  loose !  "  he  raged,  as 
the  strings  grew  knotted  in  a  tangle.  "  God  of 
love  and  mercy,  save  the  lad  !  "  he  implored  wildly. 
"  By  all  the  fiends  of  hell,  this  is  damnable ! 
Killed  by  his  own  friends,"  he  cried  despairingly. 
"  O  Lord,  Lord !  Christ  of  the  thorns  and  spear- 
wound,  save  him ! "  and  tears  ran  over  his 
rugged  face.  They  two  had  been  constantly 
together  during  the  long  weeks  of  imprisonment ; 
and  Helm,  who  was  a  tender-hearted  creature  of 


AT  LAST!  319 

impulse,  had  taken  Lancaster  to  his  heart  like  a 
younger,  dearly  loved  brother. 

"  Can  he  be  dead  ?  "  asked  an  awed  voice. 

Supreme  emotion  prevented  Helm  from  feel 
ing  any  surprise  at  the  appearance  of  a  girl  at 
such  a  time,  in  such  a  place,  as  astonishing  other- 
while  as  the  bright  presence  in  the  burning  bush ; 
for  in  the  fierce  excitement  of  the  night  he  had 
completely  forgotten  her.  Nor  did  her  coming 
now  recall  her  to  his  mind,  so  deep  was  his 
distress.  He  did  not  give  her  a  thought,  only 
so  far  as  she  might  be  of  use  to  Lancaster. 

Helm  thrust  his  hand  under  Robert's  shirt, 
blackened  with  powder  and  stained  with  blood, 
and  said,  — 

"  No ;  thank  God  !  his  heart  beats  yet" 

Ferriby  approached  and  leaned  over  Lancaster, 
and  without  more  ado  Helm  snatched  from  her 
head  the  kerchief  she  had  tied  about  it,  dipped  it 
into  a  swabbing  bucket,  and  clapped  it  over  the 
wound,  which  he  had  laid  bare, —  a  tiny,  clean, 
red  spot,  perilously  near  the  top  of  the  lung. 

"  Girl,  run  for  the  surgeon  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  him  when  I  see  him,"  Ferriby 
replied  timidly,  afraid  of  Helm  in  his  present 
mood,  fierce  with  grief. 

"  Take  my  place  !  "  he  ordered. 


320  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

She  sat  down  upon  the  floor,  and  he  laid  the 
heavy  head,  rocking  like  a  dead  man's  in  the 
transfer,  on  her  lap.  He  flung  himself  down 
the  ladder,  leaving  her  with  the  forgotten  dead, 
and  —  as  both  feared  —  with  the  dying.  Lan 
caster's  long  black  hair  fell  over  his  face,  the 
ends  on  one  side  dribbling  with  blood.  His 
countenance  was  blackened  with  powder  smoke, 
except  for  a  narrow  curve  on  the  forehead, 
where  his  cap,  now  fallen  off,  had  rested.  Its 
youthful  contours  were  sharpened  by  months 
of  grief  and  hardship.  His  cheeks  and  lip  were 
covered  with  a  dark  beard  of  a  few  day's  growth. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  which  was  the  one  hopeful 
sign  that  made  her  think  him  living.  She  un 
loosed  the  kerchief  from  about  his  neck,  dipped  it 
into  the  water  and  passed  it  gently  over  his  face 
and  removed  the  grime.  Her  task  done,  she 
looked  into  the  pale  countenance  to  read  what  it 
might  reveal.  Trembling  seized  her  hand  which 
drew  back  the  long  black  hair,  shudders  shook 
her  flesh,  her  heart  swelled  to  bursting  in  her 
breast.  She  struggled  to  hold  back  the  wild 
shriek  which  must  not  be  uttered. 

"Can  it  be  — O  God!  can  it  be?"  she 
moaned. 

His  heavy  lids  raised.     He  looked  dully  into 


"  She  gently  wiped  his  face,  and  kissed  him  once  on  the  lips." 


AT   LAST!  321 

the  agonized  eyes  above  him,  whose  strong,  im 
ploring  gaze  had  drawn  back  his  departing  soul 
into  his  dull  orbs.  He  gasped  slowly,  in  scarcely 
audible  tones :  — 

"Am — I  —  dead?  Is  —  it  —  is  —  it  —  my  Fer- 
riby?  or — is  —  it  —  her  —  ministering  spirit?" 
A  rapture  of  wonder  brightened  his  eyes  for 
an  instant.  He  almost  screamed  the  last  words, 
for  fever  was  mounting  to  his  brain. 

Her  joy  was  as  keen  as  anguish.  Its  fervor 
dried  up  the  springs  from  whence  the  tears  of 
less  poignant  emotions  flow.  She  felt  as  if  dying 
for  very  gladness,  and  that  she  must  die  of  very 
grief.  But  if  a  sob  had  saved  her,  she  dared  not 
give  it  vent ;  she  must  bear  all  the  meeting  had 
brought,  or  might  bring,  in  silence.  For  her 
lover,  so  near  to  death,  must  be  spared  the  strain 
of  everything,  whether  of  grief  or  of  joy. 

She  gently  wiped  his  face,  and  kissed  him  once 
softly  on  his  lips.  His  eyes  lifted  again.  "  It  is 
my  Ferriby !  No  other  kiss  could  be  so  sweet !  " 
And  with  a  sigh  he  seemed  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

UNDER    THE    WHITE    FLAG 

As  the  truce  bearer  approached  nearer  the 
gate,  a  calm  fell  upon  the  fort  more  impressive 
than  the  clangor  of  arms  or  the  roar  of  cannon. 
The  heavy  sulphurous  smoke  was  weighed  earth 
ward  by  the  mist  from  the  sullen  river. 

Hamilton,  with  his  aide,  Hay,  had  retired  to  his 
own  quarters  to  receive  Clark's  messenger  with 
due  impressiveness.  His  face  was  flushed  with 
gratification,  and  he  turned  to  Hay  and  said 
with  boastful  elation :  — 

"  The  insolent  varlets !  It  takes  but  a  taste  of 
true  soldiership  to  subdue  them." 

"  Yes,  general.  No  doubt  they  see  the  noose 
before  them  and  would  make  terms,  —  the  das 
tards! —  to  keep  their  heels  from  dangling." 

They  looked  arrogant  with  victory. 

The  heavy  puncheon  gate  was  thrown  wide 
with  a  triumphant  flourish,  and  Clark's  orderly 
entered.  He  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
Hamilton  and  Hay  and  saluted  respectfully. 

322 


UNDER  THE  WHITE   FLAG  333 

There  was  an  affronting  pause.  Could  contempt 
kill,  the  orderly  had  been  a  dead  man,  so  disdain 
ful  were  the  looks  the  two  British  officers  bent 
upon  him. 

Wholly  unmoved,  he  asked  with  a  courteous 
inclination,  — 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  speak  to  General  Hamil 
ton  ? " 

Hamilton,  who  disdained  to  speak,  nodded  a 
curt  affirmative. 

"  I  am  Captain  Nicholas  Cardinal,  at  your  ser 
vice  ;  and  I  have  the  honor  to  deliver  to  you  Col 
onel  Clark's  message,  and  am  commissioned  to 
bear  to  him  your  reply,  if  it  please  you." 

Hamilton  cavalierly  accepted  the  note  he  ten 
dered,  carelessly  opened  it,  and  began  to  read. 
After  the  perusal  of  the  first  few  lines  his  manner 
turned  from  haughty  contempt  to  furious  anger. 
His  eyes  flashed.  His  lips  worked.  He  muttered 
fiercely  beneath  his  breath.  The  cool  audacity  of 
the  message  made  him  raging  mad,  so  widely  at 
variance  was  it  from  what  he  had  expected,- 
humble  surrender.  What  he  read  was  this  :  — 

"SiR: —  In  order  to  save  yourself  from  the  im 
pending  storm  that  now  threatens  you,  I  order 
you  immediately  to  surrender  yourself,  with  all 


324  ON   THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

your  garrison,  stores,  &c.,  &c.  For  if  I  am 
obliged  to  storm  you,  you  may  depend  on  such  treat 
ment  as  is  justly  due  a  murderer.  Beware  of  de 
stroying  stores  of  any  kind,  or  any  papers  or  letters 
that  are  in  your  possession,  or  hurting  one  house 
in  town,  for,  by  heaven !  if  you  do,  there  shall  be  no 
mercy  shown  you. 

G.     R.     CLARK."1 

The  unparalleled  arrogance,  the  matchless 
effrontery,  the  impudent  confidence  —  the  an 
tithesis  of  his  anticipation  —  struck  Hamilton 
dumb.  But  he  recovered  his  wits  and  dashed 
off  these  words, — 

"  Lieutenant-governor  Hamilton  begs  leave  to 
acquaint  Colonel  Clark  that  he  and  his  garrison 
are  not  disposed  to  be  awed  into  any  action  un 
worthy  of  British  subjects." 

Cardinal,  surmising  its  tenor,  accepted  the 
note  composedly,  and  retired  with  strict  military 
courtesy. 

Hamilton  looked  for  an  immediate  reply,  but 
got  none,  nor  did  Clark  make  any  demonstration 
whatever.  The  suspense  was  unbearable,  and 
after  enduring  it  for  two  or  three  hours  Hamilton 
himself  sent  the  white  flag  to  the  Virginia  colonel. 

1  Bowman's  "Journal."  Original  letters  in  Draper  Coll.  Wise, 
Hist.  Society. 


UNDER  THE  WHITE   FLAG  325 

His  aide  bore  a  letter  asking  for  a  truce  of  three 
days  and  for  a  private  conference  between  himself 
and  Clark  within  the  fort,  each  to  have  one  wit 
ness.  He  ended  the  document  by  saying,  "  If 
Colonel  Clark  makes  a  difficulty  of  coming  into 
the  fort,  Lieutenant-governor  Hamilton  will  speak 
to  him  by  the  gate." 

Clark  was  surprised  at  the  character  of  this 
missive ;  and  while  he  suspected  there  was  some 
secret  motive  for  it,  he  was  not  slow  to  reply, 
and  his  note  was  decisive :  — 

"  If  Mr.  Hamilton  is  desirous  of  a  conference 
with  Colonel  Clark,  he  will  meet  him  at  the  church 
with  Captain  Helm." 

Clark  and  his  officers  were  discussing  this 
strange  turn  of  affairs,  not  without  a  tinge  of 
suspicion,  as  the  messenger  walked  off  to  the 
fort,  when  a  wild  war-cry  sounded  from  the  hills 
back  of  the  village,  and  a  band  of  savages  in  war 
paint  and  feathers  appeared  upon  the  lower  ter 
race,  returning  from  a  successful  foray,  driving 
before  them  their  wretched  captives.  From  their 
belts  dangled  the  blood-sodden  scalps  of  men, 
women,  and  children.  A  crack  of  musketry  fol 
lowed  the  war-cry,  a  salute  to  the  British  flag, 
hanging  limp  above  the  fort  like  a  thing  sentient 
of  disaster.  They  descended  to  the  broad  level 


326  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

on  which  the  town  stood,  and  not  until  then  were 
they  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  Americans. 
They  turned  in  panic  and  fled  to  the  forest  be 
hind  them.  Clark  immediately  ordered  a  squad 
to  pursue  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A    SUSPENSION    OF    HOSTILITIES 

SHORTLY  after  noon  Clark,  accompanied  by 
Bowman,  entered  the  little  slab  church.  He 
much  mistrusted  whether  his  arrogant  demand 
would  be  complied  with ;  but  he  had  scarcely  had 
time  to  become  impatient  when  Hamilton  appeared, 
accompanied  not  only  by  Helm,  but  Major  Hay 
as  well.  Perhaps  no  more  momentous  conference 
ever  took  place,  one  more  fruitful  of  results,  than 
this  which  was  held  in  the  little  slab  church  that 
gloomy  February  day.  On  it  followed  the  ces 
sion  of  the  great  Illinois  country  to  Virginia,  all 
owing  to  the  tremendous  courage  and  fidelity  of 
Clark  and  his  little  army  of  1 30  men.  The  success 
of  the  colonies  was  not  yet  assured,  but  Clark 
proceeded  as  if  it  were  an  accomplished  fact. 

When  the  English  general  faced  Clark,  he  could 
not  but  forebode  the  end  of  British  rule.  This 
man  and  his  puny  army  had  forced  their  way 
through  insuperable  obstacles ;  fifteen  days  had 
they  marched  on  a  journey  which  ordinarily 

327 


328  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

required  three,  through  bottomless  mud  and 
unremitting  rain  ;  six  days  wading  to  their  necks 
or  floating  on  improvised  rafts  over  the  Drowned 
Lands,  where  the  Ouibache  spread  six  miles  in 
an  angry  flood.  Without  food  six  days ;  with  but 
four  hours'  rest  after  this  tremendous  exertion,  to 
commence  an  assault,  —  could  such  men  be  con 
quered  ?  Hamilton  could  not  but  feel  humiliated 
in  the  presence  of  this  wet,  mud-splashed  giant, 
who,  when  other  men  would  have  been  foot-sore 
and  weary  and  discouraged,  defied  the  king  as 
sturdily  as  if  he  had  had  at  his  back  a  great 
army  instead  of  a  puny  company  of  130  back 
woodsmen. 

The  conference  began  at  once  by  Hamilton's 
producing  written  terms  of  capitulation. 

Clark  gave  these  articles  deliberate  perusal 
while  Hamilton  watched  his  countenance  for  sign 
of  assent. 

"  I  reject  it  as  a  whole !  "   said  Clark,  equably. 

"  Sir,  may  I  beg  you  to  make  some  proposition  ?  " 
asked  Hamilton,  no  little  disturbed  by  his  calm, 
unqualified  refusal. 

"  I  have  no  other  to  make,  than  that  already 
submitted  —  your  surrender  as  prisoners  at  dis 
cretion." 

Hamilton    flushed   hotly  and    began  a  protest 


A   SUSPENSION  OF  HOSTILITIES  329 

which  Clark  silenced  by  a  wave  of  the  hand,  and 
resumed  his  interrupted  speech. 

"  Your  troops  have  behaved  with  spirit,  and  you 
cannot  suppose  they  will  be  worse  treated  in  con 
sequence  of  it,  viewing  us  as  savages,  as  they  have 
been  taught  to  do  —  " 

Hamilton  would  have  interposed  a  word,  but 
was  again  denied  speech,  while  Clark  dispassion 
ately  proceeded :  — 

"  It  is  vain  to  make  any  proposition  to  me.  By 
this  time  you  must  be  sensible  the  garrison  will 
fall.  Both  of  us  must  view  all  blood  spilled  in 
the  future  as  murder.  My  troops  are  already 
impatient  and  call  aloud  for  permission  to  tear 
down  and  storm  the  fort.  If  such  a  step  be  taken, 
many  of  course  will  be  cut  down,  and  the  result 
of  an  enraged  body  of  backwoodsmen  breaking 
in  would  be  obvious  to  you." 

Clark  paused,  that  his  hearers  might  fully  grasp 
his  meaning,  and  realize  his  implacable  deter 
mination,  and  all  that  hung  on  Hamilton's  own 
decision.  Then  he  resumed  with  slow  impres- 
siveness,  "  It  would  be  out  of  the  power  of  an 
American  officer  to  save  a  single  man ! " 

For  an  instant  they  gazed  at  Clark  dumbly.  A 
purple  color  suffused  Hamilton's  face,  he  thrice 
attempted  to  speak  before  he  burst  out  furiously. 


330  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  For  this  cursed  defiance  of  the  king  you  may 
yet  pay  dearly,  sir!  For  the  present  I  am  hard 
beset.  But  a  time  of  reckoning  will  come,  when 
this  rebel  war  is  put  down.  Then,  sir,  you  will 
meet  the  fate  of  all  traitors  !  " 

Clark  bowed  with  the  utmost  civility,  and  said 
coolly :  — 

"  It  is  my  decision.  If  you  choose  to  comply, 
perhaps  the  sooner  the  better." 

Helm,  always  easily  moved,  was  pricked  by  the 
soldier's  shame  on  Hamilton's  face,  and  interposed 
with  swift  kindness,  — 

"Cannot  you  moderate  your  demands,  colonel?  " 

"  Captain  Helm,"  answered  Clark,  with  the 
severity  of  a  superior  toward  an  offending  in 
ferior,  "  I  would  remind  you,  sir,  that  you  are  a 
British  prisoner !  As  such,  it  is  doubtful  if  you  may 
with  propriety  speak  on  the  subject !  " 

This  rebuff  Helm  received  with  a  crestfallen 
air,  while  mentally  admiring  the  inflexible  attitude 
of  his  chief. 

Hamilton,  perceiving  a  chance  for  help,  quickly 
said,  turning  to  his  prisoner,  — 

"  Captain  Helm  is  from  this  moment  liberated, 
and  may  use  his  pleasure  !  " 

Clark  sternly  regarded  Helm :  "  I  will  not  re 
ceive  you  on  such  terms.  You  must  return  to  the 


A   SUSPENSION  OF   HOSTILITIES  331 

garrison,  a  prisoner,  as  you  came,  and  await  your 
fate."  Amazed  at  his  stern  obduracy,  Helm  had 
no  boldness  left  to  make  reply. 

Turning  fully  to  Hamilton,  Clark  directed  his 
speech  to  him,  ignoring  the  others.  Unseen, 
Helm,  the  irrepressible,  made  a  grimace  at  Bow 
man,  who  had  been  respectfully  silent  during  the 
entire  interview,  and  who  with  difficulty  com 
manded  his  countenance  at  the  sly  impertinence 
of  his  brother-at-arms  that  could  not  be  overawed 
for  long  by  any  one. 

Clark  addressed  Hamilton  with  the  calm  deci 
sion  of  finality,  and  the  Englishman  was  troubled 
and  mortified  beyond  measure.  "  Sir,"  the  Ameri 
can  said,  "  hostilities  shall  not  commence  until 
fifteen  minutes  after  the  drums  sound  the  alarm." 

Saluting  conventionally,  the  two  parties  moved 
off  a  few  paces, — one  to  return  to  the  fort,  the 
other  to  the  rude  breastworks.  Hamilton  turned 
about  and  asked  Clark  irritatedly,  but  with  rather 
more  deference  than  he  had  hitherto  shown,  — 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind,  sir,  as  to  give  me  reasons 
for  refusing  the  garrison  on  any  other  terms  than 
those  I  have  offered  ?  " 

Clark  mused  a  moment,  then  answered  un 
flinchingly  :  — 

"  I  have  no  objections  to  giving  my  real  reasons, 


332  ON  THE   WE- A  TRAIL 

which  are  simply  these :  I  know  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  Indian  partisans  are  with  you.  /  want 
an  excuse  to  put  them  to  death,  or  otherwise  treat 
them  as  I  think  proper.  The  cries  of  the  widows 
and  the  fatherless  on  the  frontiers,  which  they 
have  occasioned,  now  require  their  blood  from  my 
hands."  He  paused  to  note  the  effect. 

The  dispassionate  decision,  the  inflexible  pur 
pose,  conveyed  by  his  scarcely  lifted  voice,  fell  like 
a  clammy  coldness  on  them,  that  chill  which  tells 
of  death. 

His  own  officers,  Helm  and  Bowman,  stared  at 
him  incredulous,  and  Hamilton  and  Hay  were 
moved  from  their  military  comport. 

Fully  alive  to  the  impression  he  had  made, 
Clark  continued :  — 

"  I  do  not  choose  to  be  so  timorous  as  to  obey 
the  absolute  command  of  their  authority.  I 
would  rather  lose  fifty  men  than  not  empower 
myself  to  execute  this  piece  of  business  with  pro 
priety.  If  you  choose  to  risk  the  massacre  of  your 
garrison  for  their  sakes  —  it  is  at  your  pleasure. 
I  might,  perhaps,  take  it  into  my  head  to  send 
for  some  of  those  widows  to  see  it  executed." 

He  bent  on  them  a  look  of  such  scathing 
rebuke,  such  terrible  vengefulness,  that  for  an 
instant  they  quailed. 


A  SUSPENSION   OF    HOSTILITIES  333 

Major  Hay,  who  had  listened  closely,  with  a 
countenance  of  dismay,  burst  out  insolently,  — 

"  Pray,  sir,  who  is  it  you  call  *  Indian  par 
tisans  '  ? " 

"  Sir,  I  take  Major  Hay  to  be  one  of  the  prin 
cipals  ! "  replied  Clark,  urbanely,  as  if  passing  an 
idle  compliment. 

A  greenish  paleness  passed  over  Hay's  coun 
tenance  ;  his  limbs  trembled  so  they  could  hardly 
bear  him  up.  Hamilton,  seeing  him  in  such  sad 
plight,  blushed  for  very  shame.  Bowman  looked 
first  at  Hay  with  disdain,  then  on  Hamilton 
with  respectful  sympathy,  while  Clark  remained 
utterly  unmoved. 

As  they  stood  thus,  like  men  under  doom,  a 
shout  from  the  returning  American  squad  was 
heard,  and  without  another  word  Clark  walked 
hastily  off  to  his  intrenchments. 

Hamilton  and  Hay,  with  Helm  still  in  at 
tendance,  retraced  the  few  rods  to  the  fort,  to 
await  the  beat  of  the  drum. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE    END    OF    AH-MAH-NAC-O 

THE  return  of  the  squad  with  their  captives 
threw  the  fort  and  town  into  violent  excitement. 
The  French  villagers  had  retired  behind  barred 
doors  and  windows,  as  ordered  by  Clark,  before 
hostilities  had  begun,  and  up  to  this  time  —  two 
hours  past  noon  —  had  remained  close  in  their 
houses.  But  now  wooden  shutters  were  parted 
a  crack,  barred  doors  opened  a  tiny  space,  and 
eager  faces  were  pressed  against  them. 

The  villagers  supposed  the  shouting  mob  to 
be  one  of  Hamilton's  war-parties,  sent  out  against 
the  pioneers,  returning  victorious,  and  with  deep 
anxiety  they  awaited  events. 

Within  the  fort  the  spirits  of  the  English  were 
at  the  lowest  ebb,  which  the  gloom  of  the  day  did 
not  tend  to  mitigate.  They  augured  ill  from  the 
disturbed  countenances  of  Hamilton  and  Hay. 
From  the  blockhouses  they  watched  the  Ameri 
cans  drive  before  them  the  defiant  savages  into 
the  very  presence  of  Clark.  He  was  intrenched 

334 


THE   END   OF   AH-MAH-NAC-O  335 

but  thirty  yards  from  the  front  gate,  and  the  wind 
bore  his  sonorous  voice  to  their  ears.  Now  and 
then  a  chance  word  reached  them,  from  which, 
and  his  significant  actions,  they  could  gather  his 
intention. 

When  the  captives  were  brought  face  to  face 
with  Clark,  he  gave  them  one  brief  glance.  His 
determination  was  already  taken,  and  his  orders 
were  short  and  stern. 

To  the  officer  in  command  of  the  squad  he 
said,  — 

"  These  five  Indians  are  to  be  executed,  even 
as  they  have  killed  their  victims,  —  by  the  toma 
hawk,  before  the  big  gate  at  the  fort,  at  once." 

Bowman  looked  as  if  he  would  have  remon 
strated.  Clark,  reading  his  intention,  said  sagely 
and  coolly, — 

"  It  may  convince  the  Indians  generally  that 
Governor  Hamilton  cannot  give  them  that  pro 
tection  which  he  has  made  them  believe  he  can." 

The  savages  gathered  their  fate  from  the  stern 
countenance  of  the  "Big  Knife,"  and  accepted  it 
stoically. 

They  were  led  to  the  place  designated.  Pro 
found  silence  prevailed  as  the  names  of  the  men 
detailed  for  the  execution  were  called.  They 
stepped  forward  with  firmly  set  lips  and  stern 


336  ON  THE  WE^A  TRAIL 

eyes;  there  was  not  one  among  them  who  could  not 
tell  a  fearful  tale  of  cruelty  toward  his  kinsmen. 

The  prisoners  squatted  on  the  ground,  and  all 
but  one  threw  their  blankets  over  their  heads, 
ready  to  finish  life  bravely.  That  one,  frightfully 
smeared  and  stained,  turned  imploring  eyes  to  the 
guard  nearest  him  and  broke  into  agonized  ap 
peal,  as  the  man  raised  his  hatchet  to  brain  him. 

"  Oh,  save  me !  save  me  !  "  he  screamed. 

The  executioner  turned  pale,  his  weapon  fell. 
He  rushed  to  the  spot  where  Clark  stood  and  cried 
piteously :  — 

"  Oh,  sir,  spare  him.  He  is  a  spy,  but  he  is  my 
unhappy  son.  The  hope  of  my  old  age.  Be  mer 
ciful  ! " 

Clark  was  not  unmoved  by  this  woful  appeal ; 
but  it  alone  would  not  have  saved  the  wretch.  He 
had  a  whole  village  of  wavering  Frenchmen  to 
deal  with.  The  condemned  man  was  one  of  them, 
though  an  English  partisan.  The  suppliant,  his 
father,  had  labored  all  night  in  the  intrenchments. 
Mercy  in  this  case  would  bind  the  easily  moved 
Frenchmen  to  his  cause ;  and  Clark  ordered  the 
prisoner  released. 

"  For  your  sake,  and  because  of  the  service  his 
brave  countrymen  have  rendered  us  this  day,  he 
is  free.  But  send  him  from  the  village." 


THE   END   OF   AH-MAH-NAC-O  337 

The  Indians  had  uncovered  and  watched  this 
scene  with  faces  as  impassive  as  red  stone  images. 
It  only  strengthened  their  purpose  to  die  bravely. 
Clark  signed  for  the  business  to  proceed,  and  then 
withdrew. 

The  savages  again  swathed  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  and  the  first  one  chanted  a  weird  death 
song:  — 

"  O  Great  Spirit,  I  go  toward  the  sun-setting, 
beyond  which  lie  the  Happy  Hunting  grounds. 
O  Manitou  of  my  Fathers,  when  I  come  to  the 
Happy  Hunting  Grounds  make  me  fleeter  than 
the  doe,  braver  than  the  panther,  wiser  than  the 
fox.  There  I  shall  feel  no  more  the  keen  frosts 
of  winter.  There  hunger  will  gnaw  me  no  more. 
There  the  sword-leaved  maize  grows  green  and 
fresh  forever.  On  those  wide  plains  the  buffalo 
are  numberless,  and  the  deer  cannot  be  counted. 
There  the  sun  shines  warm,  nor  ever  hides  behind 
a  cloud.  There  the  Pale  Face  comes  not.  There  I 
shall  be  forever  strong  and  forever  young.  I  go  joy 
fully!  I  go  bravely!  I  am  ready!"  He  dropped 
into  silence.  Crash  !  The  hatchet  fell  —  the  scalp- 
ing-knife  flashed  !  The  body  sank  backward  easily. 

Unmoved,  the  second  warrior  began  his  death 
song.  It  ended.  Crash !  The  second  skull  was 
split. 


338  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

Without  faltering  the  third  warrior  broke  into 
his  dirge,  and  met  the  grisly  terror  calmly  as  the 
last  note  died  upon  his  lips. 

But  one  remained  alive,  a  stripling  with  the 
proud  bearing  of  the  best  of  his  race,  and  with 
the  cruelty  of  the  most  brutal.  He  threw  off  the 
end  of  the  blanket  and  faced  his  executioner  un 
covered.  No  death  song  was  on  his  lips,  mocking 
malice  parted  them  in  a  hideous,  smiling  grimace. 
Wolfish  hate  gleamed  from  his  steady  eye.  Had 
his  executioner  approached  near  enough,  his 
gleaming  teeth  would  have  shredded  his  flesh. 
Whether  his  contemptuous  defiance,  or  whether  the 
silent  appeal  of  youth  for  continued  life  unnerved 
the  arm  that  directed  it,  the  blow  was  not  strong 
enough  ;  it  did  not  kill.  Ah-mah-nac-o  himself 
tore  the  hatchet  from  the  gaping  cleft  in  his 
skull  and  handed  it  back  to  the  man.  Twice, 
thrice  it  fell  before  its  work  was  accomplished. 
Hardened  men  turned  away  from  the  ghastly 
sight,  sickened. 

Above  in  the  blockhouse  Ferriby  sat  with  the 
head  of  her  wounded  lover  pressed  against  her 
breast ;  and  neither  knew  that  they  had  been 
avenged,  —  horribly,  brutally.  Another  moment 
and  the  dead,  with  great  splashing,  were  thrown 
into  the  Ouibache,  whose  muddy  waters  received 


THE   END   OF  AH-MAH-NAC-O  339 

and  hid  them,  and  whose  mournful  voice  in  low 
cadence  echoed  their  death  song. 

Behind  the  peepholes  of  Fort  Sackville  many 
a  heart  contracted  with  fear  and  dread.  Never 
before  had  they  beheld  such  atrocities ;  they  had 
only  sanctioned  them  !  instigated  them  /  rewarded 
them  !  Their  ears  were  terror-struck  by  the  crash 
of  the  tomahawk.  Their  eyes  widened  with  hor 
ror  at  the  glistening  circle  described  by  the  scalp- 
ing-knife.  They  were  appalled  by  the  hideous 
spectacle  enacted  before  them,  not  upon  them. 
Yet  they  beheld,  not  torture,  but  swift  death. 

They  might  well  tremble  behind  the  frail  bar 
riers  of  the  fort  at  this  tame  repetition  of  the 
atrocities  of  their  own  mercenaries.  The  example 
was  as  efficacious  as  Clark  had  surmised  it  would 
be.  By  set  of  sun,  which  went  down  dully  in 
dark  skies,  Hamilton  sent  a  messenger  bearing  a 
note  of  surrender. 


CHAPTER   XL 


"A    HAPPY    ISSUE    OUT    OF    ALL    THEIR    TROUBLE" 


FOR  the  second  time  in  less  than  a  twelve 
month  Sackville  became  an  American  fort ;  from 
its  flagstaff  floated  the  colors  of  the  United  Col 
onies  ;  the  bars  in  the  square  of  blue  —  reminder 
of  the  British  —  had  been  eliminated,  and  the 
azure  field  was  sown  with  thirteen  bright,  sym 
bolic  stars. 

The  slow  days  of  spring  had  been  days  of  sus 
pense  to  Ferriby,  for  Robert,  enfeebled  by  all  he 
had  endured,  had  come  near  to  death  ;  that  chance 
bullet  had  made  an  almost  fatal  climax  to  their 
tribulations. 

On  a  bright,  soft  day  in  April,  nearly  a  year 
after  the  parting  in  the  clearing,  Robert  and  Fer 
riby  were  seated  on  a  circular  bench  around  the 
large  tree  at  the  bottom  of  Madame  Dubois's 
garden.  The  flower-beds  were  only  oblongs  of 
rich  dark  mould,  through  which  now  and  then 
crocuses  flashed  gleams  of  purple,  white,  and 

340 


"A   HAPPY   ISSUE  OUT  OP  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     341 

yellow.  The  nascent  foliage  of  the  lilacs  was  no 
larger  than  the  ears  of  the  field-mice  disporting 
themselves  among  its  succulent  shoots.  The 
buds  of  the  fruit  trees  were  yet  folded  in  tight 
little  black  cones.  But  the  sunlight  was  blind- 
ingly  brilliant,  as  only  spring  sunshine,  untem- 
pered  by  leafage,  can  be.  The  southern  breeze 
was  bland  and  scented,  and  slipped  by  them  with 
the  silky  smoothness  of  a  web  of  gossamer. 
Spring,  like  an  affable  young  queen,  with  her 
myriad  heralding  voices,  called  every  one  forth  to 
behold  her  succession  to  sovereignty  over  the 
realm  of  nature. 

Robert  and  Ferriby  sat  side  by  side,  hand 
clasped  in  hand.  A  tenderer  love  was  theirs, 
chastened  by  sorrow  and  separation.  Now  there 
were  no  playful  bickerings,  no  mock  quarrels,  no 
dissimulation. 

For  the  past  weeks  her  part  had  been  the  de 
voted  ministry  of  a  betrothed  wife ;  his,  the  grate 
ful  acceptance  of  that  service  as  his  most  sacred 
right.  Together  they  had  gone  within  sight  oi 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  and  Providence  had 
turned  them  back.  They  were  talking  over 
again,  as  they  had  many,  many  times,  the  hard 
ships  and  calamities  of  the  past  months. 

"When   I  think  of  it  all,  Ferriby,  it  does  not 


342  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

seem  too  great  a  price  to  have  paid,  —  to  find 
you  at  last ! "  said  Robert. 

She  gently  raised  his  pallid  hand  to  her  lips, 
with  eyes  tender,  but  unmoistened.  Grief  had 
long  since  dried  up  the  fountain  of  her  tears,  and 
joy  could  not  set  it  a-flow  again. 

"  None  but  you,  Robert,  could  be  all  in  all  to 
me  as  you  are  now.  It  seems  as  if  all  the  love  I 
had  for  father,  Granny,  and  little  Jack  were  yours, 
besides  that  other,  sweeter,  different  love.  I  have 
no  one  now  but  you  ! " 

They  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  Robert  said 
gently,  "  In  our  new  home  in  dear  old  Virginia, 
love,  you  will  be  able  to  overcome  the  horror  of 
these  months,  and  be  happy  again." 

"  Yes,  dear  Robert,  I  will  be  happy ;  but  can  I 
ever  forget  ? " 

She  fell  into  deep,  sad  revery  and  seemed  lost 
even  to  his  presence.  Her  eyes  stared  straight 
before  her,  as  if  in  spiritual  vision  she  saw  that 
which  could  never  fade  away.  He  spoke  one 
word,  and  she  roused  herself  and  asked  with 
solicitous  tenderness :  — 

"  Do  you  feel  that  you  can  endure  the  weari 
ness  of  the  long,  long  journey  to  Virginia,  Robert  ? 
The  voyage  by  water  will  be  easy  enough,  but  the 
rough  miles  of  the  trail  through  the  wilderness 


«A   HAPPY   ISSUE  OUT  OF  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     343 

and  over  the  mountains,  —  have  you  strength  to 
bear  the  fatigue  of  those  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  girl,  anything,  with  you  to  bear  me 
company ! " 

As  they  talked  thus,  Jeanne  issued  from  the 
rear  hall  door,  and  had  hardly  trod  a  dozen  steps 
of  the  path  to  the  garden  when  St.  Vrain,  no 
longer  a  coureur,  turned  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  quickly  overtook  her. 

"  A  most  fortunate  encounter,  Ma'm'selle 
Jeanne,"  he  said  cheerfully,  as  they  continued 
onward  together  down  the  long  walk,  overlaid 
with  dull-hued  sod,  through  which  the  bright 
green  spikelets  were  springing,  that  led  to  the 
distant  garden  seat. 

Jeanne  tried  to  hurry  from  him,  but  he  kept 
close  at  her  side  and  boldly  took  her  hand  and 
stayed  her  flight,  —  for  flight  it  was  that  she  medi 
tated.  She  had  come  to  dread  St.  Vrain,  for  he 
would  intrude  his  spiritual  presence  into  her 
prayers  and  his  bodily  presence  into  her  path 
ever  since  the  February  day  when  Hamilton  had 
surrendered  the  fort  to  Clark.  For  Hilaire  had 
spent  the  remainder  of  the  winter  at  O  Poste,  and 
he  had  sorely  unsettled  her  purpose  and  peace  of 
mind. 

"  Ma'm'selle,  those  two  are  happy.     Yes  ! "  he 


344  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

said,  pointing  to  the  distant  tree,  from  one  side 
of  which  the  folds  of  a  woman's  gown  showed. 
"Why  disturb  them?  Make  me  happy  instead! 
It  is  scarcely  nine  o'clock,  and  the  notary  and 
Father  Gibault  will  not  be  here  till  ten ;  for  I  am 
their  express.  Walk  with  me  in  the  garden  a 
little  apart  from  them.  A  garden,  m'amie,  was 
ever  a  favorite  spot  with  man.  There  he  first 
worshipped,  ma'm'selle,  there  he  first  loved.  Ma 
foi !  since  the  ancient  paradise,  no  fitter  place  for 
love-making,  as  those  two  well  know,"  and  he 
nodded  toward  the  tree  behind  which  Robert  and 
Ferriby  sat. 

"  Monsieur,  I  am  sent  with  a  message  from 
maman  to  Angele,  and  cannot  walk  with  you," 
faltered  Jeanne,  as  she  tried  to  pull  away  from  his 
clasping  hand. 

"  Ah !  I,  too,  have  seen  madame  mere.  She, 
my  Jeanne,  loves  Hilaire  well."  Jeanne  started 
and  looked  quickly  up  at  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  true.  And  what  do  you  think 
m'amie,  she  is  quite  willing  —  " 

But  Jeanne,  panic-stricken,  jerked  away  from 
him  and  ran  swiftly  down  the  path.  In  three 
great  bounds  St.  Vrain  overtook  her,  and  with 
out  more  ado  clasped  her  tight  with  one  arm,  his 
eyes  bright  with  laughter  and  mischief.  With 


"A   HAPPY  ISSUE  OUT   OF  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     345 

not  so  much  as  "  by  your  leave "  he  noisily 
kissed  her  quivering  lips.  She  looked  at  him 
frightened  and  trembling. 

"  Don't  look  like  that,  m'amie,  or  Hilaire  will 
think  you  do  not  love  him,  and  be  most  mis 
erable.  For  you  do  love  me  ?  Yes,  I  think  so  !  " 
and  he  smiled  triumphantly. 

"  I  love  the  church.  I  would  devote  heart  and 
soul  —  " 

"  To  me !      Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"No!  no!" 

"  Yes  !  yes !  I  would  never  rail  against  your 
devotions,  my  Jeanne.  No !  All  the  petitions 
you  can  put  up  for  St.  Vrain  would  not  make 
him  good  enough  for  this  saintly  little  fillette," 
laying  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder.  "  But, 
by  le  bon  Dieu,  Jeanne,  if  you  do  not  love  me 
and  be  my  little  wife,  the  lost  soul  of  Hilaire  will 
be  laid  to  your  account." 

He  looked  so  sincerely  earnest  that  Jeanne 
quailed  at  the  awful  responsibility  he  designedly 
thrust  upon  her,  trusting  to  her  innocence  not  to 
detect  his  sophistry. 

"  Yes,  ma  foi !  none  but  you  can  guide  me  back 
into  the  church  again.  No  prayers  but  yours  can 
lead  me  to  salvation  and  the  cleansing  of  my 
soul,  my  fair  saint." 


346  ON  THE   WE-A  TRAIL 

"  But,  monsieur,  I  can  pray  for  you  in  the 
cloister.  Your  journey  to  France  —  so  far — I 
cannot  part  —  " 

"  No  need,  m'amie,  for  I  only  go  to  France  to 
establish  my  claim  to  the  debt-ridden  remnant  of 
my  father's  estate,  and  the  title.  Little  is  there 
left  but  the  title,  for  me.  Then  I  return  here 
and  join  the  forces  of  the  Marquis  de  La  Fayette." 
Jeanne  showed  surprise.  "  Yes,"  he  continued, 
"  I  belong  to  this  new  world,  heart  and  soul. 
And,  sil plait  a  Dieii,  I  may  not  serve  my  right 
ful  king  here,  I'll  serve  no  other !  I  too  will  be  an 
American ;  and  that  new  flag  I  will  make  mine, 
even  as  it  is  yours,  mignonne.  All  can  see  by 
now,  that  victory  lies  with  the  colonies.  Indepen 
dence  will  come  sooner  or  later.  It  is  destiny!" 
And  he  looked  toward  the  fort  where  the  colors 
streamed  broad  and  free  in  the  balmy  south  wind. 

For  an  instant  St.  Vrain  was  serious  and  silent. 
The  venturesome  bees  droned  in  the  bursting 
daffodils  and  jonquils,  grumbling  at  their  lack  of 
heart-sweetness ;  the  river  murmured  gently ;  and 
the  soft  modulations  of  the  distant  lovers'  voices 
came  like  honeyed  whispers  on  the  air.  St.  Vrain 
smiled  as  he  caught  the  uncertain  tones. 

"  Jeanne,  it  will  take  but  the  one  little  word 
'yes'  to  lead  us  into  their  paradise.  Say  it, 


"A  HAPPY   ISSUE   OUT   OF   ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     347 

mignonne,  say  it  to  your  Hilaire!"  he  pleaded 
coaxingly. 

"  Oh,  Hilaire,  will  it  not  be  a  sin  ?  My 
vows  —  " 

"  Have  never  been  taken  —  no,  not  so  much 
as  a  -novice's  —  and  are  not  vows  at  all,  —  only  the 
very  common  mistake  of  a  tender,  pious  fillette, 
whose  pure  heart  was  meant  to  be  the  sanctuary 
of  a  sinful  man  who  needs  all  the  love  it  can  give 
him,  for  the  good  of  his  soul  —  and  himself,"  he 
added  mentally.  "  Come !  say  '  yes  ' !  and  we  will 
go  together  and  give  those  two  our  messages, 
which  are  much  the  same,  no  doubt  —  that  the 
fleet  will  set  off  for  La  Belle  Riviere  a  little  after 
noon  with  the  British  prisoners ;  and  that  'Sieur 
Vigo  and  Pere  Gibault  will  be  here  in  an  hour 
to  be  present  at  their  marriage." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeanne,  assenting  to  his  conjecture 
about  the  similarity  of  their  messages.  But  St. 
Vrain  stubbornly  took  it  to  mean  another  thing 
and  would  not  be  convinced  he  was  wrong. 

Again  a  fleet  of  batteaux  lay  under  the  pali 
sades  of  the  fort  on  the  stately  Ouibache.  Again 
was  heard  the  warning  note  of  the  assembly, 
and  then  two  long  files  of  men  issued  from  the 
fort  gate,  with  drums  braced  and  colors  flying. 


348  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

Between  them  walked  the  British  prisoners  in 
twos,  manacled.  Clark,  supported  by  Helm, 
marched  at  the  head  of  the  column,  and  bore 
himself  with  his  accustomed  stateliness.  No 
look  of  proud  elation  mortified  further  the  cha 
grined  Hamilton,  who,  with  Hay  for  a  companion, 
now  walked  a  prisoner  to  the  river  where  a  few 
weeks  before  he  had  landed  with  the  arrogant 
self-sufficiency  of  a  conqueror.  Behind  him  came 
the  six  or  eight  subalterns  and  eighteen  common 
soldiers  who  were  to  bear  him  company  on  the 
long,  hard  journey  into  Virginia,  and  to  share  his 
imprisonment.  "The  Hair-buyer  general"  bent 
his  eyes  on  the  ground,  but  Hay  cast  many  a 
sullen  look  at  the  vivacious  crowd  gathered  to 
see  them  off. 

Hardly  had  the  prisoners  been  disposed  on 
the  boats  than  a  loud,  cheery  hum  of  voices, 
mingled  with  laughter,  was  heard.  All  eyes 
intently  scanned  the  throng  coming  down  the 
lane  from  Colonel  Dubois's.  The  haut  ton  of 
the  village  had  turned  out  to  speed  the  newly 
married  pair,  Robert  and  Ferriby,  who  had  only 
been  made  man  and  wife  that  morning  by  the 
notary.  Colonel  Clark  had  given  them  convoy, 
with  the  prisoners,  on  the  long  journey  to 
Robert's  far-away  home  in  the  old  colony.  It 


"A  HAPPY   ISSUE  OUT  OF  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     349 

was  in  some  sort  a  bridal  procession.  St.  Vrain, 
who  had  long  since  made  friends  with  Robert, 
and  had  forgiven  him  the  blow  that  nearly 
cracked  his  bones,  supported  the  groom,  and 
chaffed  at  and  jested  with  him  ceaselessly.  Fer- 
riby  walked  between  Madame  and  Jeanne,  and 
their  tears  flowed  freely  while  tender  words  of 
parting  fell  from  their  lips.  Monsieur  and 
Suzanne  followed  close  behind  them,  the  girl 
now  laughing  and  teasing,  now  sobbing  bitterly. 
Elise  was  completely  absorbed  in  the  softly 
spoken  speeches  which  Lieutenant  Bowman  was 
pouring  into  her  willing  ears. 

The  villagers  considerately  trooped  at  a  little 
distance  behind,  old  Madame  Tache  telling  her 
mate  over  and  over  the  story  of  Angele's  rescue, 
her  own  share  growing  a  little  at  each  repetition. 

'Sieur  Vigo  and  Pere  Gibault  paced  sedately 
at  the  rear  of  the  gay  procession.  The  good 
father  was  so  vitally  human  and  tender  that  the 
loves  -of  the  young  appealed  strongly  to  him. 
He  had  pronounced  falteringly  the  nuptial  bene 
diction  over  Robert  and  Ferriby  at  the  conclu 
sion  of  the  contract  before  the  notary;  and 
afterwards  whispered  privately  words  of  blessing 
to  Jeanne,  upon  St.  Vrain's  triumphant  an 
nouncement  of  their  betrothal,  with  the  full  con- 


350  ON  THE  WE-A  TRAIL 

sent  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Dubois.  For  her 
comforting  he  had  said  beneficently,  — 

"  It  may  be  for  the  salvation  of  a  noble  but 
flighty  soul,  my  Jeanne,  that  the  good  God  hath 
ordered  it  other  than  you  had  designed." 

"  How  strangely  destiny  leads  us,  maybe  all 
unwilling,  to  the  fulfilment  of  her  plans ! " 

"  How  surely  le  bon  Dieu  guides  us  by  his 
Providence,  you  mean,  my  good  friend ! "  cor 
rected  the  priest,  mildly.  "In  his  own  good  time 
he  unfolded  this  mystery  which  surrounded  the 
maid  Angele,  and  brought  it  to  a  happy  issue  at 
last.  He  has  made  us  all  his  instruments,  —  for 
even  the  good  God  does  not  work  in  this  world 
without  instruments,  —  to  forward  his  mighty 
purpose,  the  end  of  which  we  see  not  yet." 

Robert  approached  Clark,  who  clasped  his 
hand  strongly,  and  after  a  few  words  of  warm 
congratulation  said :  — 

"  Remember,  lad,  our  common  country  has 
need  of  her  men,  young,  sturdy,  and  fearless  like 
you.  There  is  work  for  you  to  do  yet  in  the 
Illinois  country ;  and  when  you  see  your  way  to 
return,  I,  too,  have  need  of  you." 

Tears  and  embraces  there  were  in  plenty. 
Danger  beset  the  long  way :  for  they  would  not 
arrive  at  the  end  of  their  journey  before  mid- 


"A   HAPPY   ISSUE   OUT   OF  ALL  THEIR  TROUBLE"     351 

summer.  A  gun  boomed  from  the  fort,  the  sig 
nal  of  departure.  All  made  haste  to  embark. 
Robert  and  Ferriby  found  place  in  the  last  batteau 
and  in  another  moment  were  floating  southward 
toward  La  Belle  Riviere,  bound,  at  last,  for  home 
in  the  fair  colony  of  Virginia. 


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